Confessions
by Mary Barrett
Summary: The summer after Sirius's death, Harry is forced to stay at Grimmauld Place with none other than our favorite snarky git. But when the truth all comes out, Harry learns that there is a lot more to people than what's on the surface. And Snape may just give him a birthday present that will change his life forever.
1. Traiter

Chapter I. Traiter

* * *

It was just another day at the Dursley household, Petunia fussing at the neighbors and their "wasteful" sprinklers, though it was almost a hundred outside again, and humid. But the sweltering, oven-like heat was not what made Harry Potter miserable. Sirius, his Godfather, was an empty, sore void in his heart. It had only been a week, but all the same, Harry still longed for it to end. He could hardly mind that antics of the stupid Muggles, couldn't bring himself to care, much less pay attention, when he had such dismal, heavy things on the brain.

He had a lot to ponder- the conversation with Dumbledore, the prophecy- that kept, in the day, thoughts of the Department of Mysteries from him. While he slept, however, he had no guard, and the nightmares came freely. He was grateful for the chores that kept him occupied, but usually he worked so steadily that he was done by afternoon. The physical labor felt good. The latter half of the day he wandered around, safe as long as he beat Dudley home, depressed by everything around him. The sun was blazing down, but he was far away in another place, somewhere damp and dark inside his soul.

He was so lost that as he turned on to Magnolia Crescent, walking just to walk, that the presence of another grim figure eluded him. The stranger was cloaked in black, very lean and tall, his face hidden by that telltale ivory mask. Harry was not paying attention, and was completely caught unawares as the cry of "Expelliarmus!" seemed to come from nowhere; he was wandless now, defenseless, as the Death Eater forced himself on him. Harry had no control. Something was forced to his hands for him to touch, and he was so busy struggling that he didn't notice. He scar burned and it felt like searing fire as the Portkey whisked him away, and suddenly everything went black.

It was some time later before he woke from that state of semi-consciousness, only to discover that he was suspended in midair, restrained… he tried to yell, scream, but nothing came. Then he heard it- that high, cold, monstrous laugh, and suddenly eyes red as hellfire bore into him. Lord Voldemort seemed to find the whole thing terribly amusing. "You won't be able to move, Potter," he informed Harry, as he was still twisting and turning, trying to get away.

When Riddle sneered the white flesh around his mouth screwed up, disgusting.

"I have a little gift for you, before we're done, boy." And finally he turned away. "Severus! Oh, Severus!" Inwardly Harry groaned, though he was too worn down to care anymore. "You have brought the potion?" "Of course," came the silky reply, and there was something in his voice unfamiliar- it wasn't commanding or icy, though it still had an edge to it, and Harry realized that it was something akin to submissiveness.

"This," said Voldemort, waving a vial, will reveal to me why my last attempt to kill you was thwarted. But only after giving you a little dose of what you deserve." Harry instinctively imagined the effects of the Cruciatis Curse, and he didn't know why, but he met ebony eyes in pleading only to find there disquieting laughter. He looked smug- of course, it would be his immense pleasure to see him suffer and writhe in pain. Why couldn't it be over now, a quick death like his parents had had? Like Cedric and Sirius had had? Why must he be tortured, when he had nothing to live for? He wanted it to be over in a single flash of green, but now Voldemort was speaking again.

"That way, you will be gone for good." Harry barred his teeth, bracing himself, and found to his own shock that he had locked eyes with Snape once more, but there was not pleading in his gaze. It was a look of pure venom he gave the greasy git, hatred and loathing down to the very core. How Dumbledore trusted you so, it seemed to say, and the thought of Dumbledore made his heart wrench. He had let him down, let them all down. The monster laughed again, menacingly. "Oh, don't look so betrayed," he said. "He's been on my side from the beginning, you fool!" "I always told you he was dim-witted, Master," said Snape evenly, cooly, and it made Harry's blood boil but he tried to get it under control. He had nothing left to lose, everything was gone… but even as he thought it something tugged at his brain, telling him he was wrong.

"When you drink this," Voldemort went on, as if the previous exchange had not happened, "There will be nothing to stop you from falling to my feet where you belong, like a squirmy tadpole. No one left to save you, Harry Potter." He turned to his servant- was that- was Snape- _smiling?_ Harry inwardly shook himself. He wanted to puke. "You do the honors, Severus. I fear, should I come too close, that the temptation of strangling him would prove too much." He returned the vial to him, and Harry had to lower his gaze. His scar was pounding out of his skull. "I shall do my best to resist, my Lord," Snape said smoothly, and suddenly Harry was flung to the ground, which he hit with a loud smack. It gave his body a shock; at least he was turned away from his captors. He still could not move, though it didn't matter, he tried to tell himself between breaths, nothing mattered anymore.

But then there was another voice inside his head screaming, You were supposed to save them all! Stop his deadly, evil crusade! His heart began to throb and pound as he felt Snape's wrap his arms around him; he wanted to throw him off but couldn't-

And then the blue liquid was all over his shirt. It had not been forced down his throat, and before Harry realized what was happening they were spinning away, a shrill screech reaching them even there: "Traitor!"


	2. Grimmauld Place

Chapter II. Grimmauld Place

* * *

This time Harry smiled, as the strange feeling of suffocation subsided and Hogwarts castle came into view; he realized that he'd just Apparated for the first time. Snape still had a firm grip on his arm and steadied him as the Headmaster came running to the gates, and Harry's heart leapt at the sight of him.

He was safe now.

"Severus! Harry!" He sounded panicked, and the words brought him back to reality- the grey sky, the wind on his face… He felt dizzy suddenly, and was glad Snape had not let go of him. "Are you alright? What happened?" He brushed Harry's messy hair away from his face, pulling him close into a tight embrace. "Damned Death Eaters," Snape growled, and none dwelled on how ironic this was. Realization flashed in Dumbledore's blue eyes.

"The game is up, then? Thank God you were there, Severus! Thank God!" Snape nodded tentatively as Albus squeezed his hand. "Grimmauld Place. You must… He will expect you to remain together… the only way…" "Naturally;" and with this the cloaked man was about to Disapparate when Harry stopped him with a sharp, "Professor!" Snape froze. "Thank you." "Of course," the man replied, and was gone.

Harry then felt himself being led inside. "You must tell me everything," he coaxed, and it made Harry shudder right down to the marrow. He could not, he simply couldn't … He closed his eyes, trying to measure his breaths, and let relief flood thought his bones that he was with someone who cared, who would do anything for his safety. They were in the Entrance Hall now. "What is there to say?" he tried shakily, and was surprised when he was not pressed further. He hardly noticed they had stopped dead in their tracks. But out of the blue something occurred to him. "Sir, wouldn't Professor Snape have known about the plot to take me? Sir?"

It was clear his question had unnerved Dumbledore. The truth was that he was just looking for another reason to hate him, because he hated being in the man's debt- he had saved his life again. His subconscious knew, of course, that this was the same way Snape had felt (still felt, he made all too clear) about his father. "Lord Voldemort does not tell his servants everything, Harry. Especially not one who spends so much time here," came the slow reply. Dumbledore was choosing his next words very carefully. "But he suspected something sinister when he was asked to brew the potion. That was why he alerted me when he was called tonight."

Another pause. "You must go to Grimmauld Place too, Harry. It's safe there." No. Harry absolutely refused to set foot in that awful place, the place his Godfather had lived and hated. It would be dark not he could not go without Sirius, no… especially not with the only man not sorry to see him gone He shook his head resolutely. "I can't," he said firmly, unnerved at how small he sounded, the way his voice quivered. He was close to tears. Dumbledore's knowing sigh only exasperated him. "You must carry on this fight . For him. He would want you to. And the only way to do that is continuing Occlumency." He couldn't be serious. But it brought to mind something else, something he couldn't quite push out- Sirius, mad fit to burst in the floo, yelling, "He did WHAT?" when he'd learned that Snape had discontinued the lessons. He needed them… had needed…

"You cannot deny their importance," Dumbledore seemed to read his thoughts. Rubbing it in! He might as well come out and say it was his own fault for not trying to learn it in the first place. He'd hit a weak spot, and Harry boiled with rage, fists clenched. It couldn't be his fault that Sirius had died, not really. If-

But it was his fault. It was so completely undeniably his fault, and he saw it now. There was just him. There was no one else to blame, suddenly. It hurt, it hurt and it stung, as all the anger redirected to himself. He had been tricked and let himself be lured to the point of needing rescue, and had lost the only thing that ever mattered. It was as if a thousand sharp arrows were pointed at him, poised and ready to strike. He felt cold, as if a dementor had sucked the happiness from him. Why had he lived tonight? He looked at the Headmaster and shuddered. He owed it to Sirius…

"You're right," he muttered quietly, part of him hoping it wasn't audible, but of course it was. Dumbledore took his hand and back outdoors they went to Apparate. The sight of Hagrid's hut was strangely comforting, but it was soon gone. For Sirius, he thought as he walked into the dreaded, bleak house…

To be flung into the arms of a very concerned Remus. Harry had not expected that, and welcomed it. If Lupin could find the strength to stay here, so could he. "I'm so glad to see you safe," he said genuinely, and Harry felt blackness return. What had Snape told him? "Enjoying the company?" he mocked, if only to fight the wave of nausea at the sight of the sitting room, so damp. "Don't, Harry," Remus frowned. "I'm quite grateful, actually. Without him we would've lost you. And he's been making Wolfsbane Potion for me." They faced each other in pained understanding.

"I must be going then," broke in Dumbledore before he Disapparated. This gave Harry the slightest twinge of annoyance. Couldn't even be bothered to-

"I'm afraid I won't be joining you for dinner. Full moon." Neither said more for a moment. "Well, best not keep his waiting." "No," agreed Harry, forcing his way to the large basement, the same one where- a lump was forming in his throat as he took a seat.

Snape stood with his back turned, looking as much like an overgrown bat as ever, but intimidating as always. "Occlumency is not an art that can be taught," he began icily, turning to face him, "without a willing pupil. It is delicate, fragile, essential. You will try you hardest this time and put forth true effort. You will not try my patience. And I will get something through that thick skull of yours. Stand up." Harry obeyed quickly, bracing himself for the powerful curse.

"Legilimens!"

And suddenly it was all flooding through him- Sirius that night in the Shrieking Shack, desperate to get him to understand, assuring him he would be all right. Sirius in the floo, hugging him as he promised a forever home, Sirius falling through the veil…

Then the lump returned, and he remembered, finally managing to push Snape out, mustering everything he had. "Pathetic as usual," he admonished. "I refuse to be berated by sappy memories of your Godfather. Control, Potter." These last words were clipped, as if he were on the verge of deciding something, though Harry didn't pick up on it. "You're forgetting, maybe, that I am the reason he is dead. The words were harsh, and Snape waited for them to sink in before continuing. "I did nothing. You told me he was in danger, and I ignored you, went on, did nothing. Should have gone to the dementors your third year." He fully enjoyed watching the color leave Harry's face. "Much better fate for the likes of him. Sorry they missed their chance."

Now. Now Snape did it, when it was enough to catch the boy off guard.

"Legilimens!" And it was mere seconds before Snape was thrown against the wall, the first time he had been blocked. It had worked. "What were you?" Harry fumed, obviously angry, unable to finish his sentence. Snape looked him in the eye. "I channeled your anger, Potter. There is one thing in life I am positive you absolutely hate- me. I riled you up enough to force you to _want_ me out of your mind, really want it," he explained, seeing the skeptical look on the boy's face. "And it worked," he said, cooling off now. "So all I have to do when it's Voldemort is remember how he murdered my parents?" "It's not that simple," Snape spat back. "Nothing ever is." It had taken the boy this long, he thought grumpily, but he had, indeed, succeeded. The sore on Snape's bum and the likely bruise on his head attested to that.

Brushing off his usual black, buttoned down shirt, he rose and stared into those shining eyes- Lily's. He shuddered. Not a day went by when did not think of her. He must prepare her son for what was coming. But before he could speak a word the brat had already begun. "I know this might be dangerous," he said, cautiously, "but I'm going to ask anyway. Why do you see my father every time you look at me?" Potter was now seated again, and they stared at each other as if it was a stand-off.

In that moment, that moment, that moment when Snape had been goading him about the death of his Godfather, he realized that it had been none the git's fault at all. He had even tried to warn Sirius about going that night. And he'd had a good reason for calling off the lessons- Harry had snuck into his private Pensieve, and witnessed what could only be described as an agonizing memory- though what he had done in his Death Eater days must agonize him far more, Harry mused, not processing that he did not have any doubt anymore about Snape's loyalties. He had given himself up in front of Voldemort to save him- Snape must feel remorse, after all.

In awe, a sudden wave of gratitude burst through Harry, in time for the biting reply. "I do recall telling you not to speak of it again." The dark tone led one to surmise that three was something dangerous lurking beneath the surface. But Harry went on, determined- Gryffindor pride, the Potions Master huffed internally. "I would never do what he did to you. It was wrong- so wrong." "You haven't exactly proved it, have you? Always getting into trouble…"

"The trouble finds ME!" harry was losing patience. Was he apologizing or not? Yes- even if his teacher didn't accept it. "I guess," he chuckled, "that this is my way of saying I'm sorry. For breaking into your Pensieve." Snape raised an eyebrow. "Never thought I'd hear it," he admitted. "But yes, I suppose you are." "I always wanted to be like them, look up to them." Anger was bubbling in him, showing in his cherry facial complexion. How could Snape remain so cool and collected? It was maddening. "Ruined you image of your perfect father and Godfather, did I?" He was smirking, and something gave deep inside of Harry Potter then.

"That's what you wanted, wasn't it?" he boomed. "All those years…" The snide comments, glares, had all been payback for something he'd never done. He'd had enough. "And just because I look like him." He could not tell what he saw as his green eyes met the black; rage, a fiery inferno, yes, but more- was it- sadness? He had been voicing his own true, raw feelings to a man who hated him and he would reap the repercussions. But to his utter shock the response, while predictably dark, was unaccountably soft, as if it were costing Snape to say it.

"Not completely." It was almost a whisper, and at Harry's flinch he regretted it instantly. "You have your mother's eyes." Neither spoke for a moment, Harry trying to ponder what that could possibly mean. He was glad to note that when Snape continued the firmness and control returned. It was like acid, like they were in the potions classroom and not Sirius's house. The familiarity of it was like a slap of the face. "Get out, Potter. Before you say something else ridiculously stupid." You didn't have tell him twice; as soon as Snape turned again he was up, hand on the doorknob when he froze. It was like déjà vu.

Snape whirled on his heels to face the boy. "Are you quite convinced now, Potter? That I would give my life for you?" Harry gulped and muttered a "Yes, sir," before bolting , not wanting to give him a chance to kill him. He knew what that sneer meant.


	3. Dumbledore

Chapter III. Dumbledore

* * *

It was a restless night, thoughts of his Godfather floating and tossing in his head. This place, of all places! He had to wonder why Dumbledore was doing this to him. It was torture, and he'd assumed the Headmaster would understand that. First the Dursleys, and now this. He doesn't want me to be happy, Harry fumed.

He was still half asleep as he strolled into the lengthy kitchen the next morning, jolted by the sight of Remus's paler than usual face. At least he still had a friend here. He wasn't completely alone. "How are you feeling?" he asked timidly, taking a chair and soon feeling the weight of Lupin's arm around him. "Fine, Harry. Better now, thanks to the potion." But he still had the countenance of one recovering from being terribly sick, and nothing could stop Harry from worrying. They sat in stark contemplation then, everything quickly turning bitter and hard and immoveable, insurmountable.

It ached.

"It just feels so empty here without him," Harry observed, feeling immediate relief. Remus squeezed his shoulders. "That's okay. It's okay because he was a light for this dismal excuse for an abode and he filled it up." He took a swig of his coffee, as if flooding the sorrow. But however he felt, he sounded strong- a stark contrast to the tears poking through Harry's voice. "It's all my fault," he said slowly, as if testing out the words on his tongue. They felt good, felt… right, somehow. He sighted. "Harry, look at me." The seriousness of it made it sound as if he had been pulled by a tight cord, like a marionette on a string. "He was willing to die for you, willing to give everything for you because he loved you." How could Remus talk about him without it ripping through his very soul, without a tidal wave of illness smacking into him with all its might? Harry had to wonder.

"I know he did," he replied softly. Lupin smiled, reassured, and squeezed his hand. Harry had never been comforted before, and instantly felt undeserving, unsure. Then a coldness spread over the room, and an unwelcomed low voice caused both to jump.

"No use blaming yourself, Potter. Won't do any good." "Severus-" Remus stood forcefully, like he was warning Snape to be careful about something. Tread lightly. "No," Harry put in, unwilling to let anyone else have that guilt on their shoulders. It had to be him, him that buried it, nursed it. He was the reason Sirius was dead. He knew that now. If he hadn't been so foolish, been so quick to trust the vision…

"If I had only learned Occlumency," he said aloud without meaning to. "You couldn't very well learn it without a teacher, could you?" Snape spat harshly. Harry's jaw almost dropped, he was uncertain of what to do; his eyes went wide, but it didn't seem to startle Remus at all- if anything, it only made his cheeks flush violently. "Do not DARE," he yelled, taking both aback, and Harry resisted the urge to scoot away. "You did everything you could. Lots happened that night, and-"

He went on, clearly not letting Snape, who looked battered now, retort. "And you will not let him go to the grave blaming him for what happened. That rests with me. " His eyes closed in terrible pain; he hung his head down, as if defeated.

"I am the one who almost killed you then." "Not of your own free volition, Lupin," Snape shot back, giving him a glare Harry recognized from third year- one of boiling malice. He knew it then too. "Don't defend him." "He's gone now-" Lupin was trembling, as though he had already accepted it. "We must move on."

Snape appeared frighteningly close to an explosion of his own. Harry looked from one sheet-white, pallid face to the other, concerned. The confrontation had been coming. "I never apologized, never, for just standing by while it happened. Never. But I am sorry, Severus. Every day. He was too, even if he would never admit it." He chuckled softly in remembrance, not noticing that Snape's fists were clenched. "Right," he growled. Remus shot him daggers with his eyes. "Don't do that. Not now, please. We-" he paused, as if trying to figure out what to say. "We need you. We never said thank you, for giving us Harry's message that night. Putting everything on the line every day. Without you Harry would have died, that cannot be disputed. We wouldn't have been able to rescue him in time-"

"You know why I did it, Remus." Harry raised an eyebrow, knowing Lupin was on very thin ice now. He hardly wanted to confront any of the emotions this conversation was bringing. "Stop it!" Remus shouted, banging his fist on the table, which made Harry jump. "It is in the past, Severus. Long gone now, and it cannot be changed. You know that. But torturing yourself like this, doing this to yourself-" He gestured to the cloaked, dark figure. "Accomplishes nothing. For your own sanity. Please. Stop. It." Harry, in all his days, never thought he would see calm Remus Lupin lose control like he did just then. There was venom in the reply, hanging in the air.

"Don't talk of things you know nothing about! Just don't! And stop, for just once, sticking your nose up my business! You are impossible!" "For your own sanity," Remus repeated, as if to himself. "I'm sorry. All you've done for us, and you deserve an apology from him, both of them, that you never got. Forgive us."

Harry was stunned. Something passed over Snape's face, something unreadable. "It is too late now," he hissed maliciously, and it seemed this made Remus impatient. Their gazes were fixed on each other, as if one were going to whip out his wand any minute. But Lupin simply shook his head sadly. "It is not, Severus. I am right here. And I need it more than they. You have no idea what it did to me." "Is that so?"

Harry could not have imagined, not for a second, that Lupin would have felt like Sirius and James would have used him, would have felt… guilty. He shuddered. Had he really considered at all how Remus felt about the situation? But suddenly he knew. Like something eating at you, gnawing at you, from the inside out. He knew what it had done to him, knew what it was like to be the death of someone… now… to cause destruction to all who love you. To end a life. Even if Severus Snape was still standing right there. It sent a chill down his spine.

"Snape, please," he pleaded. The dark eyes bore into him sharply, and Remus looked… stricken. As if they had forgotten he was there, lost in time. But all he knew what that Remus needed it. He shivered, lowering his head, not realizing that he needed the forgiveness too, on his behalf. His father's behalf… and Sirius's.

"How would it change ANYTHING?" Snape bellowed out of the blue, and Harry felt as if he had just fallen from a great height. "Don't deny it to yourself," said Remus softly, and Harry looked at him to make sure he understood, that he wanted to relieve him of the burden he carried. "Because it might be your only chance. We are not promised tomorrow; you're familiar with that. Because maybe it will help you come to terms with things, and maybe it will help you forgive a very important person: yourself."

Snape was floored. No one had ever told him he was an important person before. No one. Visibly shaking, Remus replaced himself in his seat next to Harry. "Glorious- never thought I'd see the day. What is this, Remus?" But Lupin could not look him in the eye. Harry thought he looked ashamed, as if he knew exactly what the other was going through. "I hate to see you suffer, Severus."

He squeezed Harry's hand rather tightly.

"Oh, wonderful. Look what we have here, the two of you! Look at yourselves! Coming to me for- for forgiveness when you just can't see it, can you? It has all been too much, I have seen too much, I have done too much, and it will not come off no matter what you try. You ask for something I cannot give. If James Potter could see you now-" "He'd agree with Lupin," said Harry darkly, daring retaliation. A part of him, deep down, knew he was right, and he was not going to hear Severus Snape say otherwise. Lupin could not bring himself to comment, apparently. He seemed lost.

"You bloody Gryffindors are INSUFFERABLE and you have gone too far this time!"

His cloak billowed behind him as he left, and Remus sighed harshly. But neither could do anything before they heard the back door close, and Dumbledore nearly made them jump out of their skin. "It does no good, Remus," he said smally, quite obviously abashed as he entered, "To have him blow up like that. We need him to stay here, for his own safety." He turned to Harry then, looking him in the eyes. "My boy, it wouldn't be too much to ask for a bit of privacy?"

How could he deny Dumbledore? Shaking his head, he back out into the parlor, the same way Snape had gone. And he found he just couldn't help himself- he pressed his ear to the door.

"I am sorry to intrude like this…" "Yes, well, that's alright. I'm sure it would not be for anything less than important." He sounded violated, as if the Headmaster had seen him with his clothes off. It had been rather private… "I do have something very important to discuss with you, Remus." Lupin was silent, obviously waiting for him to go on. "You trust Severus, don't you?" he asked seriously. "With my life, Dumbledore, you know that. Even though I could not be trusted with his." That would probably please Dumbledore, thought Harry snidely.

He's always been defensive about it. "Let us not dwell on past grievances child," the wizened wizard urged. "And you trust, I am sure, that he will take care of Harry?" Remus huffed, as if he had been ruffled the wrong way. Harry stiffened at the sound of his name. "He's proven himself, obviously." Through a crack in the door Harry could see him frown. "I'm afraid I have a favor to ask of you. You see I think I've figured out a way for him to continue… his work," Dumbledore finished knowingly. Lupin snorted incredulously.

"How? How is he going to convince the Dark Lord that taking Harry out from under his nose and saving him multiple times means he's on his side? He is no fool, Dumbledore." Remus actually laughed, a hint of nervousness behind it Harry knew all too well. Yes, how was he going to pull this off? This should be good… "Quite to the contrary; if Tom were not a fool he would never have acted in ignorance when he only knew half of the prophecy, which lead to his downfall."

At the mention of the prophecy Harry grew dizzy again. "He would not have placed Quirrell quite so close, costing him the stone. Or left his diary in the possession of one Lucius Malfoy. Only fools do not know love, Remus."

Sirius again. Dumbledore's voice grew ominously lower. "Tom Riddle has never known love. Severus Snape is not a fool." Harry snapped to attention at the mention of Snape's name. "But Voldemort is. If he were not, Harry would be dead now. I don't mean the graveyard. I mean that very first night in Godric's Hollow. He was saved by love- his mother's love. Tom was fool enough not to foresee that. And he will be fool enough to let our spy back under his wing. A little theatrics, explanations about how it was all for my benefit, of course. Severus can do it better than anyone. Play it like he saved Riddle from making another huge mistake."

Harry shifted softly, watching Remus take another swig of his coffee. Could he be right? But what mistake? Judging by the look Remus shot Dumbledore he was immensely skeptical but shrugged it off. "Let's say you're right. Say Severus comes crawling back begging for mercy, which he will enjoy too much. What do you want me to do?" "Leave," said Dumbledore, and Remus flinched, nearly spewing his drink everywhere. "I know it is a lot to ask. But if it works, and I'm almost sure it will, then he will once again be the most important person in this war besides stated, continue on in mutual animosity. That would be disastrous and I cannot have it. They need to be alone, be alone so Harry can learn Occlumency and they can forge a trust." "Why wouldn't Harry trust him after what happened?"

Dumbledore's back was to the door, so that all Harry could see was that long silver hair, but he knew that mysterious smile was in play. "I am not so sure that he does not. But don't forget what Harry saw in my Pensieve two entirely long years ago. He's always been unsure, and Karkaroff declaring Severus a Death Eater helps nothing, especially since I was the one who defended him." Harry's stomach wrenched, and he went cold, remembering the desperation of a caged Karkaroff… and how eager he had been to tell Snape about his mark fourth year. "I do not think it of great importance," the reply rang in his ears. And how quickly had Dumbledore told him he was a braver man by far? Snape must have a lot of gall…

"You mean to tell me that last year wasn't the first time he went uninvited into a Pensieve?" Why was Lupin always so perceptive? "It matters not now. The point is, they have never been on good terms. You remember that Harry suspected Severus of taking the stone all along?" That had been a real shock, Harry thought, a smile on the edge of his mouth, though he did feel guilty. They had been so sure… _They._ How he'd love to see Ron and Hermione again! But he couldn't let it distract him. They had been so sure… "Did he?" asked Remus, obviously disappointed, and Dumbledore sighed.

"So you see why we must do this. I may even get Severus to confess…" "Confess? To what?" At least he was in the dark too. "Maybe one day you too shall know… though it is not for your ears. Strictly between them," he admonished. "Right," shrugged Lupin, as if he felt the whole thing unsettling yet slightly ridiculous. Harry twitched as Dumbledore moved closer to the door, and had to strain to hear what came next. "Yes. I hope you understand, Remus." "Of course, Dumbledore," came the measured reply, and he could just make out Remus running his hands through his messy blonde hair before a calculating voice drew him away.

"And what exactly are _you_ doing?" He turned to find a very agitated Snape, staring at him through that curtain of hair with his hands crossed over that black fabric. Damn…

But he couldn't answer before the door swung open behind him and that disappointed look no the Headmaster's face was more than he could take. He wasn't a little kid stealing from a candy store. Still, why did it make him feel so… ashamed? "Harry…" Lupin looked personally affronted. "No need to explain anything, then," he said bitterly, walking over to Harry and placing his hands on his shoulders. "You promise me you will make an effort?" Damn. What could he say to that? Of course he nodded, and suddenly he was being pulled into a hug. He didn't deserve to feel this good. Then he had to face Dumbledore.

"I'm sure there's no need to explain the word privacy to you, Harry." That did it. He was a no good, good-for-nothing- The worst. Nothing else could make him so red, and- "Would anyone care to tell me what's going on?" Harry's heart pounded as he looked at Snape. "Lupin will be going for a while, Severus."

Confess.

Confess what? He was brought out of his musings as Remus tucked a runaway lock of hair behind his ears… just like Sirius used to do, and then he realized Lupin was just as raw, just as hurt and vulnerable. They hugged again. "Listen to everything he says." "I will." He didn't even think about what he was saying. Like he had any choice. And he had barely realized how parental Remus had become to him; their bond had definitely strengthened. "Are you to have any visions, they are to be reported to Professor Snape immediately, no exceptions." "I don't think I'll be having many, sir," he faced Dumbledore again. Voldemort would certainly be more cautious about the whole thing after the failed plan. Breathe, he told himself.

Breathe.

"Perhaps you're right." Oh, he had not seen the Headmaster smile in over a year! He knew it was childish but he let it warm him. And it all seemed to slip away finally, the anger and betrayal- yes, that was what it had been- towards this old man, something he had been holding onto since the end of last year. Of course he should have warned him that he would probably be lured to the Hall of Prophecy, and explained things better, told him about the prophecy to begin with… He should have. But it all melted away then because he was sure, had always been, that Dumbledore had his best interests at heart.

Even if it meant making sacrifices like living with the Dursleys or staying… here. And then the last thing he expected to happen happened. Dumbledore pulled a thirteen inch holly wand from his cloudy robes and presented it to Harry. "Arabella Figg was kind enough to retrieve this for you." Oh, the Squib… She had been the last person on his mind, admittedly, and he still recalled how surprised he had been to discover she had a magical background. But he was even more shocked to realize that the wand, its loss as he was disarmed, its vital importance to him, especially considering the twin cores, had yet to occur to him. Still, he was of course grateful to have it back.

"Of course, there is still no magic outside of school, which you have no doubt not forgotten. But you will be needing it when term begins." Behind them, Snape snorted. Why did he have to bring up his trial with the Ministry? And the incident with Dobby had not been his fault. In front of the greasy git! The slender feel of the wood, so familiar, made his skin prickle, and it was instantly calming.

"Severus," Dumbledore said seriously then, looking past Harry to the fierce black eyes that still resembled long tunnels at times. "Should you be summoned…" And Snape went pale. "There is no other option for you but to go."

"Don't be insane, Dumbledore," came the retort. "I assure you, can you convince him to listen, you will have a very interesting story to tell. I am correct in assuming that the potion, if consumed, would have cast Harry into a state of delirium, rendering him incapable of giving Voldemort the information he desired?" It was the first time Harry didn't hear a snide remark at the name. Though it was Dumbledore, after all, the only one Voldemort ever feared. Suddenly the hot words of the deformed monster Riddle strung though his head, burning him: _Not before giving you a little dose of what you deserve._

What would it have done to him?

"Not exactly. It would never really have done anything for him- you see, he asked the impossible. No one knows why, and even if Potter did, only Veritaserum would have drug it out of him. All that would have happened was an agonizing seizure, and the endurance of horrific nightmares, visions, rather…" He met Harry's gaze now. "And considering that Potter has seen some rather, shall I say, harrowing things," Harry shuddered, wondering if he detested the usual sarcasm. "It would have been far worse than if it would have been ingested by another. Naturally I tweaked it all I could, but…"

Like Dementors, Harry thought, suddenly feeling as though he'd been wrapped in their usual coldness, like they were here. Silly. They affected him worse than others because there were true horrors in his past, horrors his classmates could scarcely imagine, Lupin had explained. The potion would have done the same thing… he understood then.

"I would've passed out, then." "Since you put it so gracefully, Potter." But Snape hadn't disagreed. Dumbledore looked like he had heard everything just as he'd suspected it, and Harry had to admit he'd had no idea just how well the Headmaster knew the Slytherin. "In such a state, he could surely not have told Voldemort what he wanted," Dumbledore pressed, as if a calmness had settled over him, like he had taken a deep breath. His eyes even fluttered shut for a moment. "No, obviously. If you are serious about this, Headmaster, if you truly believe…"

"I do." The sky-blue eyes flickered open again. "I do, Severus, and I know it is a lot. If you have the strength and will…" "There is no need to concern yourself with that," Snape said harshly, as if they had had this conversation before. And suddenly Harry remembered it exactly, even if it had been over two years ago now.

 _You know what I must ask you to do. If you are ready- if you are prepared…_

And he didn't think he could ever forget what Snape said then. He would never forget anything about that night.

 _I am._

With that he had gone. "I did not doubt, my boy," said Dumbledore quietly, and Harry reddened- the same thing he called him he had called Snape. No, I am not jealous of Snape, he shook himself mentally. At least he knew now, what Dumbledore had been asking then. So long ago, so far away now. "If it had not been for Potter's arrogance and pig-headed carelessness it would not have happened in the first place. Only a Potter would have been so daft as to wander away from the blood wards…" "I am positive Harry realizes the graveness of what he has done." Dumbledore looked disapprovingly at him, and he noticed a sharp constriction in his chest, tightness. He had just been so lost that day.

The Headmaster seemed to be reading him scanning him, and Harry was glad when he turned his attention to Snape again. "I am sure he will not wander away whilst he is protected here." Then Lupin was leaning down beside him to whisper in his ear. "Don't prove him right." And give him the pleasure? he thought with a snicker. Snape would be only to delighted to report to Dumbledore that he'd been pig-headed and careless, and he would not give him the satisfaction. He already knew Snape thought him an ignoramus and was not going to give him a reason to.


	4. Not Slytherin

Chapter IV. Not Slytherin

* * *

But however eager he was, it did turn out to be rather difficult. Just a week later he lay in his bed, bored and trying to sleep but not tired, humming to himself, when the potions teacher burst in, typical scowl in place. "You are not Occluding your mind, Potter," he frowned. "You are not even trying. And here I thought it should be easy, seeing how little there is to actually clear in that head of yours. It's already almost empty." "Oh, is it not that my head is so inflated and huge with me being the Chosen One and everything that it was taking me an extra-long time?" he said smartly, his cheeks not warming at the insults like they used to. He supposed he was finally getting used to it.

"Thank you, how enlightening," the overgrown bat sneered. "Honestly, Potter, if you are going to act like the useless lump I say you are this whole thing is going to be for nothing. _Lay down,_ " he hissed. Harry had been so enraged that he had sprung up from under the white sheets, though he didn't know why. He just didn't want to put up with it anymore. Still, he obeyed, out of options. He was right, Harry hated-really hated- to admit. His failed efforts had cost Sirius his life. He had to try.

"Now, breathe," the instruction came, and as he did he closed his eyes again. The window was open, and he tried to focus on how incredible the breeze felt, how cool it was. "Breathe, in and out. _You are not listening._ Exhale and then inhale. Even you can't mess it up. Breathe, Potter." Harry's chest heaved up and down. "Concentrate on the sound of my voice and on nothing else. Think of nothing else. Let the world disappear around you."

It did, and everything was black, the pale shadows cast by the moon disappearing. "You are not anywhere. You are flying on the Quidditch pitch with those _friends,_ and you can feel the wind beat your face. It is sensational." Now, how would Snape know that? How it felt, that it was his safe space, his default?

"Sand. Rough and gritty, but white and empty- completely empty, Potter." But it was just nonsense now, the words, the void overtaking him as he went into a lull…

And he did not catch on to the fact that he had crashed, and was sleeping hard, but Snape knew it instantly. Disgusting, he thought, moving Potter's soppy black hair out of his face to reveal that lightning bolt scar, he's sweating. Will wonders never cease? You are truly disgusting, Potter, he thought, oblivious as to when he began stroking the teenager's head, wishing he could look into those eyes. Her eyes. See them one more time. "I promise, Lily," he whispered. "I will protect him for you. He needs it." He shuddered as he left, closing the door behind him.

"Potter, stop that infernal noise, it's driving me crazy," he admonished the next afternoon, brandishing his quill and not looking up. Harry sat across from him, attempting to read a Transfiguration book McGonagall had assigned to them. But summer homework simply was not interesting anymore, and after five minutes of struggling he had begun senselessly tapping his foot and drumming his fingers, unknowingly of course. Snape, who had apparently been trying to finish a letter all morning, did not appreciate it.

"You were the one who insisted I do my homework under your watchful eye, _sir,_ " Harry said, feeling he would have much rather been holed up in his room. "That sass has got to stop," came the steady reply, writing utensil lowering now. They locked eyes. "Unless you want to lose points for Gryffindor before the year even starts, a record even for you." Harry glowered. The OWL results had not come back yet, but he was almost positive he had not made it to NEWT-level Potions. "What, upset you can't take points from me in class anymore?" he couldn't resist, realizing too late he had gone too far.

"Your abysmal performance, shall, I am sure, be sorely missed; however, do not doubt that I will not hesitate to dock points from your House when you deserve it here and at Hogwarts, regardless of the glares I will earn from Minerva." Harry sighed, knowing that McGonagall would be disappointed if he did deserve it, and not registering that Snape had just slipped and called her by her first name.

"Seeing as you are so easily distracted today," Snape went on, standing, "We might as well work on Occlumency then. No denying you need the practice. Get up." Harry did, resisting the urge to flinch as the wand was placed at his heart. "Legilimens!" The flood of memories started, as it always did; but this time there was an old shabby hat sitting on the head of a very eager but obviously nervous and finicky young boy. Oh, God- why this? The hat spoke, though Harry could have told you what it said in his sleep- especially if he were having a nightmare.

"Where to put you?" the hat mused, and to Harry's shock he heard the reply of his eleven-year-old self: "Not Slytherin, not Slytherin-" "Not Slytherin, eh? You could be great, you know, and Slytherin would help you on the way to greatness, no doubt…."

Oh, this was going to go over well.

" _Not Slytherin, not Slytherin…"_ "No? Well, better be… Gryffindor!" Everything erupted, just like he remembered it had, except that he hadn't remembered Malfoy appearing so… stricken. Then the scene went tumbling before it changed, and Harry found his twelve-year-old self sitting in Dumbledore's office after fiasco in the Chamber of Secrets. "So I should be in Slytherin," he was saying. "The Sorting Hat could see Slytherin's power in me, and it-" "Put you in Gryffindor," came the reply. "Listen to me, Harry. You happen to have many of the qualities Salazar Slytherin prized in his hand-picked students. His own very rare gift, Parseltongue- resourcefulness, determination- a certain disregard for the rules."

And suddenly Harry remembered who else was listening, and will all of his strength he somehow managed to break the connection. The room was cold, very cold, but despite this a redness filled his cheeks. No one was supposed to see that, no one, but the person who he wanted to see it least of all stood not two feet in front of him. No doubt Snape would be personally offended. But he seemed, in spite of what he had just witnessed, remarkably calm- which often was just as frightening.

"Well, well. This does shed a new light on things, doesn't it?"

"Sirius's whole family was Slytherin, and they all thought he would be too! I guess some of us just break the mold!" Harry shot defensively, instantly sensing danger. "And I guess some of us just need to learn to keep our mouths shut and close our minds so that we still have some secrets left." Harry couldn't think of anything to say to that. Snape appeared to contemplate something for a moment, and the silence was deafening. "I did wonder," he said at last, slowly, glancing at Harry as if to make sure the effects of his words were visible, "what had taken so long. I was so sure it would be instantaneous, considering your parentage."

Nothing new there. Snape raised an eyebrow. "I must say I am surprised. A disregard for the rules, yes-" Harry was about to scream that Dumbledore had not only said it about himself but about Slytherins when he stopped himself. He couldn't rightly do that, after what his own father had done. "But you have none of Slytherin's resourcefulness. And since you want to go on about _breaking the mold-"_ There wasn't a witch or wizard who went bad that wasn't in Slytherin, Hagrid's voice played in his head. There were icicles hanging on that last phrase and he would be an idiot not to know why.

"I need only mention a certain Peter Pettigrew. Not convinced? How about Quirinus Quirrell? You're lucky you're not in my House, Potter, or you would be…" "Expelled, I know." The first chance Snape got. He'd proven that all too well after the incident with the flying car. "Dumbledore wouldn't have let me get away with that," he growled. "I was going to say dead."

Harry was caught off guard again, and he didn't like it. What could he mean? "You and Ginerva Weasly. You would never have been able to use the Sword of Gryffindor in the Chamber of Secrets." That was very true. Harry found himself wishing hen that Dumbledore did not confide so in his teachers, especially this teacher, because Snape could not possibly know any other way. It stung a little when the Headmaster had been so prudent to keep information from him last year.

The anger returned fresh and white hot, and he was even more enraged to find Snape studying him, the same way he had only once before, as if he were undecided, trying to figure something out. "Is that why you looked at me like that, right after the Sorting? You didn't know why I had taken so long, or…" He couldn't bring himself to say it. "Or had _hoped_ I'd be in Slytherin?"

No-no, it was not true, that much was plain. There was some other reason behind it. "You are absurd, Potter, and as usual have trouble with basic communication skills. I just said I knew what it would be." "But if I were in Slytherin you wouldn't be as quick to take points from me, like you do with Draco Malfoy." But that felt wrong, as if it were complete nonsense. McGonagall took points from her own House. Nothing stopped Snape from doing it either.

"If Malfoy went about like he owned the world and failed at simple tasks I would reprimand him too. Now spare me and get to the POINT, Potter."

He had to know. What could it have been, then? "My scar tinged for the first time when I saw you, gaze set on me, as if… and it was…" He wanted an explanation. "It seems you have a gift, Potter, for honing in on Death Eater with that scar. You only sat in a class taught by none other than Barty Crouch Jr. for an entire year before he was revealed as what he was. The same with Quirrell. A marvelous gift." "No! No, it was like I knew, knew then that you hated me and everything…"

What was he saying? Had he forgotten who he was talking to? What was he doing, pouring out his feeling like he was three? Get a hold of yourself, get a hold of yourself, look what you just said, he thought bitterly. The venom returned to Snape's eyes. Funny, Harry hadn't been aware it had ever left.

"Well, but don't I?" And he turned his back to shift through the bookshelf as if nothing at all had happened. Nothing could have confused Harry more. "I suppose… I suppose so, sir. I mean, Quirrell said so himself. 'But Snape always seemed to hate me so much," I said, trying to distract him, and he said, 'Oh, he does. Oh, heavens yes. He went to Hogwarts with your father, you know.' He told me other things too, like how he used you. Non one suspected him next to you, not even and especially not me."

Harry gasped. He had no idea why he had just said all this. Hadn't the man learned enough already? To his shock again, all this seemed to do was elicit a raspy sigh from Snape, something that Harry had never heard before. "And did Quirrell," he asked, slamming the book he was examining shut by the spine, "seem like he knew what he was talking about?" Harry had never considered this before. Snape was close now, too close, boring in on him, kneeling in front of him. "Keep you nose out of places it doesn't belong, Potter. You hardly know what you are talking about, as usual. One day you are going to mess up more than you already have and dig something too deep for anyone to get you out of. You mean to tell me that the only reason you are not in my House is because you begged it of an old battered hat?"

There was vehemence in his features, and Harry wanted to break away but didn't want to be perceived as weak. "I, I… guess so." Snape's breathing seemed to get very heavy, and his hooked nose nearly touched Harry's. "And what, pray tell, would've happened before you Sorting to so prejudice you against an entire House?" How could he say? How could he, really? He wasn't even sure anymore. It wasn't Ron, he tried to tell himself, and certainly not Hagrid. "Draco Malfoy. He- he offered to e my friend. But he had just insulted Ron, and Ron comes from a Gryffindor family too. And as for me not 'honing in' on Barty Crouch Jr., he played you too. Not only did he try to steal from you, but he tried to make it look like I'd done it."

"The Weasley boy." Snape did not move, as desperately as Harry wished he would, and he seemed as if he were considering something for a moment. "You told me nothing I didn't already know. Yes, Jr. Crouch did play off of my intense dislike for you…" But not hatred. Harry's heart was pounding. He did not say hatred. Why? Why did it matter so much now, when it never had? "That was weird, when I saw Barty Crouch's dot in your office like that." "You thought he was his father." Slowly, Snape rose and returned to the chair he had occupied earlier.

"Since you have been so kind as to mention the Marauder's Map, perhaps you would like to tell me where you procured it. Lupin is insistent that he did not give it to you, Potter, and I would like to know why." That day had not been the last time he was saved from Snape's wrath by another teacher. _Directly from the manufacturers._ Of course! At the time he could not have know the role Lupin had in making it. It made sense, then, why Snape would be so quick to blame Lupin- the last of his childhood enemies and the only one who could have possibly known where it was.

"The Weasley twins gave it to me. They stole it from Filch's office." There. As long as he couldn't get them in trouble anymore and as long as Snape wasn't going to quit until he got an answer. "I see. I assume the grand spectacle they made was merely a diversion for another of your antics; but I did not think you would give them up so easily. That was right before Umbridge caught you in her Floo, was it not?" "Well, I had to talk to Sirius," Harry yelled, growing angry again. "Make sure he was alright…" To think he had been upstairs in this very house tending Buckbeak! It was all so ridiculous, and now everything was gone. If he ever got his hands on Kreacher he was going to kill him.

He was panting now, unsteady, just wanting to get away from this conversation, away from feelings of suffocation, thoughts of Sirius. Then it struck him- a confession. There was still something he wanted to know. "It's only fair, since I did tell you, that you have to tell me something to. Why…"

He trailed off. How could he possibly be asking this? Snape had seen something personal today, something no one else had, and Harry deserved to find out. It would not kill the man to tell him something personal too. "Go on, Potter." Did he sound… amused? That only served to escalate Harry's fury, and it burst from his lips too quickly. "Why did you do it? Turn spy?"

It was too late. Snape's breathing went shallow, very shallow, and he looked drained of all color, not that he had much to begin with. "You have no right," he spat, rising with his hands still firmly planted on the desk, "to turn this on me. My reasons are mine and mine alone and your idle curiosity is sickening. I will not tell you now and quite possibly not ever but should you ever ask that of me again you are landing yourself in the Headmaster's office. Do I make myself clear?" "Crystal, sir," said Harry,face reddening as he averted his gaze. Dumbledore would not be pleased if he found out he'd asked in the first place.

Suddenly he felt like they had talked enough for one day… Day, indeed. Was it dark out already? Snape must have come to a similar conclusion because Harry could sense the simmering, boiling anger in him subside and be replaced by and indifferent coolness Harry knew well.


	5. Nightmare on Privet Drive

V. Nightmare on Privet Drive

* * *

It was a silent and depressing meal, indeed, the conversation, if it could be called that, hanging in the air between them. Harry felt deflated; no doubt he should have known better. How could he have even let his teacher, his most hated teacher, see that? And then to lash out like that. He really would have no secrets left. The one thing he was positive Snape would never tell him, that he knew was private and probably sore or scarred even, he had asked. How could he have been so stupid? It had gone too far.

"Lost your appetite?" Well, duh, he wanted to say. If any of that chicken hit his stomach it would come right back up. "No sir." He took a bite of asparagus and suddenly he had an idea, one that just many work. "Professor? I know it sounds childish and stupid, but would… would counting sheep help me Occlude my mind, sir?" "It may be worth trying," muttered Snape absentmindedly. "Tell me in the morning." He was not looking at Harry as he said this, which was unsettling. Harry nodded, his stomach going in knots.

He didn't think the Potions Master one to gossip, but- well, would he say anything? He wasn't too happy about almost having the Chosen One in his House. He wouldn't tell…right? Harry sighed and took a gulp of water. Honestly, Snape's reaction had been partly surprising. Almost as if he had lost something he had been close to having. A lump formed in Harry's throat, all too familiar now, and his scar burned as those black eyes finally set on him again. "If you are quite through, Potter, you may go ahead and get to bed." It was an order, Harry knew. He tried, he really did, to close his mind that night, but it turned out counting sheep didn't ward off nightmares like plain old breathing.

He saw it as reality, Uncle Vernon, purple already, scorching mad, muttering, bubbling, about he was good-for-nothing. Dudley, his porky face scrunched up in laughter. Aunt Petunia, frying pan ready to strike, lifted… "No, Aunt! Please, it's hot! I promise I'll be good! I'll…." He squirmed and twisted in bed, becoming tangled in the cream sheets. "I'll not say the word magic again, I promise! I'll stay in the cupboard, won't make a sound when Mr. Mason is here, I promise I won't!" He screamed, but no one answered him. He was trapped. "No, no freakish business, I swear! I won't!"

He was being pulled, as if from a great depth, like crashing through a barrier. He shot up like a bullet to have his worst fears confirmed- there stood Snape, the ends of a white shirt poking out from the black robes. His arms crossed, he was flaming. Oh God, what did I say? Harry went pale. Another nightmare… what did I say? Oh, God- "What won't you do, Potter?" he asked almost curiously, as if daring him to admit whatever it was. "I…" The raised eyebrow stopped Harry from putting up any more of a defense, and he hated himself for still being so easily frightened even now in his presence.

"Obviously," came the draw. "you failed to practice again tonight, or your methods were seriously flawed. What will it take to get you to learn?" Harry wished savagely he had the strength to retort. He was all sweaty- "And obviously, you have some explaining to do. I will be right back." Harry's heart was pounding as the black cloak swept of the room. What had he done now? If only Sirius were here! If only Sirius were here! If Sirius was here he would have some comfort. Oh, how he missed him so! A heaviness came over him. Oh, how I wish you were here! Apparently Snape had seen how shaky and distraught he was because he came back with a steamed cloth and tossed it to him like it was contaminated.

"Clean yourself up. Maybe care to tell me what all that was about?" Instantly Harry shook his head, whipping his neck and face, which felt so nice. No way. But he knew, of course, that it wouldn't do any good. When Snape spoke again it was in that same low tone he'd used when threatening Harry in potions as he crushed dung beetles…

"What did your aunt do to you, Potter? Freakish business, did she call it?" Harry had no idea why this would make Snape clench his fists, but he knew it was coming out no matter what. The threat of Veritaserum had not been made yet, but it was unspoken. "Yes. They don't like magic much." "This cupboard." It was not a statement, not a question; it hung lifelessly. I want to be anywhere but here, Harry thought wildly. It had to be him, had to be. Why? "They kept you in it?" The room was spinning now and was swelteringly hot. He barely made out Snape pulling something form his robes and shoving it in his hands- a vial.

"Calming draught. Drink it." Harry managed to pop the cork without question and downed it; he went icy. "Slowly," Snape chastised, flicking his cape so it better hid his shirt. "What was hot, Potter? Who is Mason?" Harry shuddered. He could not say, would not, not fully. "A client. Of my Uncle's." His breaths were becoming increasingly steady. Snape leaned in, as if trying to reach maximum impact.

"Did they ever hit you?"

The bomb had dropped. No, he could not know, could not- not him. No one could- but not him. He was like Dobby, not able to speak ill, having to punish himself.

"You heard me."

The words were heavy and hit hard. "You will answer me."

It was like an explosion, and he was ashamed when his voice came out quiet, and low, and sickly. "You can't tell anyone." He was pleading. "Potter, you really are a fool." With that he took back the empty vial. "Did they put you in that cupboard only as punishment, or more often?" He sounded as if he were asking about the weather. Harry had no way out. "More often." Why did Snape look like he wanted to smash something? "Elaborate." Harry could tell he was using all of the control he had, like trying to resist punching Vernon's face in or cursing Dudley, or breaking a vase on purpose. Like he was close to another explosion.

"I lived there." The shock was clearly visible. Snape had not expected anything of that magnitude. "They locked you _in a cupboard under the stairs_ for ten years and you told no one? No one? Not your Head of House, McGonagall, not Hagrid or even Flitwick? Not even the Headmaster himself?" Harry was shaking again now, shaking hard. He could not muster a reply. Naturally it did not matter now- that part of his life was over. He had Hogwarts. Why did Snape care, anyway?

"Abuse is not to be taken lightly, Potter, ever! Because no one deserves that. No one. Do you hear me? There are always people at Hogwarts you can confide in, who will listen to you Why you did not think to come to them is beyond me, but that is on your own head." And of course in the midst of it Harry said the first thing that popped into his brain. "Don't tell McGonagall- she would have a fit if she found out." "You just don't get it, do you? _I_ am having a fit. This is bigger than that. You were maliciously mistreated and neglected for a decade and decided for some reason to keep quiet so that we sent you back every summer."

He was pacing back and forth now, as if he could not decide what to do. Harry was still sweating. "That was what I saw during our Occlumency lessons all last year, was it not? And that obtuse excuse or a boy…" For a moment Harry tricked himself into thinking he saw a flicker of remorse in the sallow face, as if Snape believed he should have figured it out sooner. It couldn't have been…. "My cousin Dudley." He reflected for a moment. "I don't normally dream about them. It's usually Cedric. Cedric, over and over again. Or Sirius." He shook himself bitterly now. He could still see the glazed look Cedric had as if it were yesterday, and Sirius, well…

There were worse things than life at Privet Drive , he knew. He met Snape's gaze again, about to speak, before he noticed that expression of sympathy, concern amidst the rage. As if- Harry shuddered- the man knew how he felt.

"You never thought I would understand, did you?" He shivered, and quickly buried himself under the old divan once more, lying flat, as if staring at the ceiling would help him think straight. "How it felt to be bullied. To be targeted for simply existing." He turned over to face the wall, but not in time to miss that frown. He fumed, ignorant as to when Snape situated himself on the edge of the bed.

"Harry, I-"

That alone was enough to keep him wide awake, though he had to admit draining your soul like he had in the past twenty-four hours was quite exhausting. "I'm sorry." It was a whisper. "You shall not endure that again. I had no idea they were so _cruel."_ "It got better, once Sirius and Moody frightened them. " He rolled over, displeased to find that Snape had found interest in the door and was not looking at him. "Be still, Potter." The command was unwavering if unusually soft; Harry was jolted into action upon hearing the familiar name, though he did so like Harry better. Taking a deep breath, not without a shudder, he was calmed by Hagrid's deep accent again: _"Always good to see ye', Harry."_ Just knowing he had friends somewhere who loved him, gave him enough reassurance to close his eyes.

For the first time while laying here he was not plagued by Sirius's smiling face, lots of life still to live….

"Be still and imagine you are nowhere and you have been here before." "Don't you ever sleep?" Harry mumbled, baffled at why Snape would have come fully clothed, suddenly. He was too tired to move now, and so remained frozen; this time he did miss it when Snape's lips curled into that rare smile. "No. I am a greasy dungeon bat who prowls Hogwarts after hours to catch unsuspecting Gryffindors who aren't fortunate enough to have Marauder's Maps." Catching Harry's raised eyebrows, he sighed.

"Close your mind now. Close it up; close out everything until it closes in on you , the emptiness, the sandy whiteness. Envision the sound of the ocean." He watched the boy for a minute. He appeared comfortable, but Snape could tell when something was amiss. He could not have seen the hot tear rolling down Harry's cheek, silently. "Peaceful. It is peaceful here, and nothing will hurt you. You are safe." Harry responded with a still nod. "I said lay still," he admonished, not willing to admit how alarmed he had been at the confession, nor that the child's barrage of inquires their first encounter at Grimmauld Place now made sense. How often had that fat cousin, or even friends of the fat cousin ganged up on him?

He shivered involuntarily. It had been obvious, hadn't it- he had been the scrawniest, skinniest one at his Sorting. They should have realized sooner. "I am going to kill those Dursleys," he growled evilly, unaware the boy was still awake. Anyone who would do that to a child deserved what a Death Eater would do to them. Lily had been right all along, of course. How could he have ever associated with them, Avery and Mulciber and the whole lot of brooding cowards who followed the Dark Lord? She had always been willing to give her sister a second chance, though. "If you could only see what she did to him," he whispered again, contemplating now.

Potter had almost been in Slytherin, yes, but… it could have been in another way. Not for the first time, Snape despised himself for, in effect, pushing her right into the arms of James Potter. _Arrogant toerag._ But the thought did not console him. He had a lot to think about, though, and did not move from Harry's bed until long after three in the morning, feeling gross and dirty.

He Flooed the Headmaster of Hogwarts immediately, but at this hour go no response. I am going to give him a piece of my mind, he determined then, angrily billowing away to scratch out a rash letter and shove it into the beak of an inconspicuous owl who lived upstairs. _A cupboard under the stairs._ A cupboard under the stairs. Petunia had locked Lily's only son in a cupboard under the stairs.

Freak, indeed.


	6. Dumbledore Again

Vi. Dumbledore

* * *

Resisting the urge to pour himself a glass of Black's old Firewhiskey, he settled himself in a still armchair to think… and think… and think some more, before he noticed a movement in the fireplace. Scarlet tongues of flame lapped around the image of the Headmaster's face, and instantly Snape shot up and stalked over. "Severus, what is this all about?" "Your precious Golden Boy has been abused," he hissed. "I suggest you get over here quickly."

Not another thing was said before the Floo Network went dead, and blackness returned to the room. Fuming, Snape replaced himself in the chair; only a few moments later, though, he had to get up again at the sound of the front door closing. "FILTH, HALF BREED SCUM IN THE HOUSE OF MY FATHERS-" Dumbledore was not long in closing the velvet curtain around Mrs. Black's frame sharply, and was giving a final tug as Severus reached him. "Explain, my boy. I am listening."

"Harry Potter was shoved under the stairs for a decade and I am the one who needs to explain?" Dumbledore flinched, reaffirming a lesson Severus had learned long ago- that words could wound. Except this time he was glad. "I had no idea, no idea that they would-" "Don't give me that! It was Petunia and her filthy, ugly husband! What were you thinking?" But he did not give the old man a chance to respond before continuing his tirade. "How could it have turned out any other way? How could you not have known? You are out of excuses!"

"You're quite right," Dumbledore agreed softly, cheeks reddening with what Snape recognized all too well as guilt. Sorrow. "You are quite right, as always. I have nothing to say for myself. And you have every right to be angry, Severus…" "Damn right I do! You were supposed to take care of him! That was your aim from the very beginning, was it not? And here we are." He was shaking now, keeping the Headmaster's every move, every expression, and gauging it under a microscope as if searching for sincerity, genuineness. Anything. There was no denying Dumbledore was anxious; he looked like he'd been slapped. "You should have heard him. _It's hot._ I still have no idea what that means. _It's hot."_ The words were on repeat in his head, like a broken record.

"Did Harry have a nightmare?" Dumbledore asked calmly, and Snape grew frustrated that with everything so messed up he could not even cause a good, satisfying smack. "DAMN RIGHT HE HAD A NIGHTMARE! About that place, that place you insisted on sending him to! With those Muggle trash-" "Severus, please don't-" But it was too late. She was already screaming. "BLOOD TRAITERS! SCUM OF MY FLESH!" Snape yanked the curtain shut harshly. "Those Muggle trash," he said again, as if ridding himself of the vile words. "Those Muggle trash you left him with. You should have heard him. _You should have heard him, Dumbledore!"_ This time Dumbledore looked stricken, which was pleasing to the Slytherin. There were even tears in his eyes now.

"Don't dare cry! He didn't cry! 'I'll be good,' he was screaming. I THOUGHT YOU CARED ABOUT HIM!" Now! Now the Headmaster looked ready to collapse, and tears streamed down his face. "I do." His voice was small and fragile. "I do care about him, completely. It was his safety I was thinking of, you know that. So we wouldn't have an incident like the one earlier this summer." Now Severus was visibly shaking, worse than his employer, and it took a few deep breaths to steady himself. There was raspy silence for a moment. "I must confess, I did not expect to find you riled up like this, Severus, defending him." It was true. Without realizing it he had found himself facing Harry, not that Chosen One or the Boy-Who-Lived, not even Potter's spawn. Just Harry, who knew-

"You never did anything for me either. Not ever. You just-" The words seemed to almost split Dumbledore in two, stopping Snape in his tracks. "I know. You should too. I blame myself completely for you taking the Dark Mark, child, as it was completely my fault. You were my responsibility, and-" "You failed me," Snape finished for him. "On more than one occasion. You swore to me you would protect her. You could not have known that rat Wormtail was a traitor. I cannot hold that against you. But then you told me you would take care of her son."

His fists were balled at his sides; he was losing all control. "Let us take tea, my boy," the other said, flattening them out with his aged hands and leading Snape to an armchair. Neither spoke as Dumbledore brewed the drink. It hit Severus forcefully- you vowed to protect him too. How insane, the way he started to tingle from the inside out. Soon Albus was pushing a steaming mug in his hands and taking a seat opposite. "I want to thank you," Dumbledore said then, lowering his half-moon glasses so he could meet the Potions Master's eye, "For keeping the promise you made me that night. You have not failed me. I thank you."

Surely the Headmaster had not used Legilimency on him. The absurdity of it all struck him, then. "Of course. I am a man of my word." Dumbledore stared as if lost in space, off in the distance somewhere, and sighed. "Words. We set such store by them, only to toss them to the wind." This seemed only to agitate Snape more. "And some cannot be forgiven." Dumbledore turned to look at him sharply now. "I am to blame," he said, knowing exactly what the other was thinking of. "I should have noticed."

Snape looked away now, unable to meet his gaze. "I _did_ do it," he spat rather nastily, but he was cut off before he could go on. "Yes, but you made a choice. A choice, Severus. And that means everything." Snape had nothing to say to that, but deep down inside he knew he was grateful. The famous Harry Potter, abused. So it had come to this. "Lily would be proud." "Don't EVEN-" That had earned the Headmaster a glare, but he continued on anyway, apparently unfazed by it. "It's okay. I meant it; you need to know that." Dumbledore stood, straightening out a kink in his old back now as he did. Snape followed suit.

"You were always a poor judge of people," he said, frowning. "You hired Quirrell, and it nearly cost you the Elixir of Life and the stone. The next year you hired a narcissistic buffoon who had a head swollen to the size of a balloon and was so egotistical a second year disarming spell knocked him to the wind. Then you hire a werewolf, and after that you engage an Auror who just so happens to be a Death Eater. And let's not leave out that Ministry pawn who drove you out. So who, may I ask, are you going to get to teach Defense Against the Dark Arts this year? What poor, unfortunate soul would-"

Dumbledore was grinning wildly now. "Why, Severus, I was hoping you would take me up on it." Snape's eyes went wide. "Don't be daft. Why now? And who would-" "Oh, don't fret, you're irreplaceable to me, Severus. As good as my own son. But I did toy with the idea of asking Horace Slughorn." "That old coot, teach Potions?" "If you'd rather stay at the post, just say so. I just thought you would enjoy it. You always did have a passion for the Dark Arts."

Snape raised an eyebrow in skepticism, but quickly swallowed the explanation. "I'd be glad to." "I thought you might. Now, Harry will be stirring soon, I expect, so-" At the boy's name he froze, as if he could sense something in the air. It was quickly dispelled by a pained quiet. The Boy-Who-Lived- to-eavesdrop-on-stairs realized quickly that he knew what it meant. It ripped through the room like nothing else could. Snape seethed in pain and looked at Dumbledore, whose hand fell from the door handle. "You were serious." "You will be fine, my child," came the reassuring whisper, and before Harry knew what was happening Snape had touched the mark and vanished.

Off the Invisibility Cloak came, and as he expected, the Headmaster looked in no way startled to see him emerge. "You must be careful, Harry. That is not an article which should be abused; it could get you in a lot of trouble." "I know," said Harry, his face bubbling with rekindled rage as he stepped into the room. He met Dumbledore's eyes. He was on the verge of crying. "Do you care? Do you care, really?" The reply was quick in coming. "Don't be silly, Harry." Harry's hands were shaking now.

"You cared about my safety. Not about me. As long as I was around to do what you needed me to. My duty. Happiness didn't matter then, right?" He continued on without leaving room for a response, missing the pale color of Dumbledore's veins, which showed thin and frail in his pale complexion. "What did it matter what they did to me? What did it matter if the Dursleys beat me as long as I was protected?" He was shaking all over now. "Protected so I could do your bidding, my job. You don't care about him either." Harry waited to see the impact of that, let it sink in. "How could you when you send him off to be tortured just now so you could have what you wanted? You put him in danger every day, but that's not important as long as you have your spy. I was never any different."

"Harry, I-" But Harry would not let him finish. "How do you know? How do you know he's not about to be killed right now?" Neither said anything, Harry watching to see how Dumbledore would react. "That's not fair. Why do you make him go through that?" he demanded, lost as to two you could let anyone suffer if it could be prevented. "You know why. His services are invaluable. " "A son to you indeed," Harry scoffed, the hurt rising up in him. You just didn't do that to someone you truly thought your own flesh and blood. "You have trapped him, Dumbledore. Look at this terrible mess we have to get out of." The Headmaster did nothing still, escalating his fury. You do not put people you love in dangerous situations.

"Or don't you see it? What you've gotten us into? You never told me anything. Anything. What promise did he make you that night?" This was a test, and one he was sure Dumbledore would not pass. Still, the man seemed to collect himself to muster a reply, after a long, shaky minute which was agonizing. Harry had been right- it was not what he wanted to hear. "Oh, Harry, you know you and Severus are the most important thing in the world to me." "Are we?" Harry puffed incredulously. "Not more important than the war." He went on before Dumbledore could formulate a retort. "What did he do? What choice, and what did my mother have to do with it?" "That is something I must let him tell you."

Harry shook his head viciously. "You don't tell me ANYTHING! How come he was the only one who knew Quirrell was up to something? The only one who saw him cursing me, figured out the troll was a diversion? The only one who knew where I had gone last year and went to look for me? You were never even there." He had begun, without realizing it, to look at Snape in a new light. He had taken him away from Lord Voldemort. "You should have warned me. About the prophecy and the trap…" "We have had this discussion before, Harry."

Dumbledore stepped forward, as if trying to open himself up. "I have made many mistakes in my life, and I know I didn't give you and Professor Snape what I should have. I am sorry. If I could go back and change it…"

Harry felt a splitting headache of a sudden; this whole thing was sickeningly familiar. The grayness of the drab room was swimming around him. He barely noticed when those clear, clean tear began running down the frail cheeks of the silver beard. Had he not told Snape that it was his fault, that he felt it his responsibility? He knew what the man would do, then, if Time-Turners could go back far enough. He would have stopped Snape from ever becoming a Death Eater. Saved Harry's parents. "I know," he whispered, but it wasn't enough still. He was still angry but had said what he needed to; it was time to let the reply come. Dumbledore was always going to be the man he admired above all others.

"I am not good at giving people what they need." The old man was shaking now. "Long ago I had a sister. She was beautiful, but so sickly and frail." Harry waited, his interests peaked. "My mother took care of her. When she died that job fell to me." This seemed to pain him very much; he was more vulnerable than Harry had ever seen him. "I failed. I did not give her- Ariana- what she needed. And as a result, she…" His voice was quivering, and his eyes were shut as if in painful reminiscence. Fists balled, ready to strike. He was angry at himself, Harry mused. "We lost her. I would have taken you, but-"

He sounded every bit his age, suddenly. Something clicked. "That's what you would have seen in the Mirror of Erised. That bit with the socks was a lie," he breathed slowly. Dumbledore's tears were flowing freely now. It made Harry's heart wrench. "I'm sorry," he backed away now, guiltily. "Oh, I'm sorry, Dumbledore." "The past can haunt us, Harry. You understand that, I know. You have been through so much, so much I should never have put you through-" A tear slid down Harry's face now, and he grew instantly defensive. "A wise wizard once told me that it does not do to dwell on dreams and forget to live."

He was glad to see Dumbledore smile now. "Ah. I always knew you were a good listener. But I am certainly not as wise as I am made out to be, Harry." "Just like I am not half as brave as everyone believes I am," said Harry mildly, still raw but feeling the wounds heal now, though they throbbed. Dumbledore considered him seriously. "You are still learning, still a child, dare I say. Enjoy your childhood, Harry, for it will be gone soon. You have faced true danger, and you don't have to fit the mold made for you. When the trials come again you will prove even more brave than you thought you could be, though I always knew it." Did the Headmaster really have such confidence in him? Yes. And it would all turn out right in the end, he was sure then.

But the moment was utterly ruined by a sizzling in his forehead, and he was sucked into the vision- he was Voldemort, a tall, powerful figure who loomed over these cowards. Wormtail looked delighted with the proceedings. "My Lord, how can you be sure?" he asked, his special hand almost glowing. Harry cackled, and his gaze met Snape's. Even in this time of distress he looked collected and stood firm, as if nothing in the world was unnerving. This was agitating. "We will find out," said Harry, pointing his wand at the Potions Master. "Crucio!" How hideously glorious it was to watch this traitor fall to his knees, how wonderful the blood-curdling scream sounded! "Crucio!" It hit him again, and Voldemort must have found this quite enough because Harry found himself back on the shabby red carpet in the living room of Twelve Grimmauld Place, Dumbledore by his side.

"Ow!" "Harry? What-" The boy tried to stand but would have fallen again without Dumbledore's support. "Why would he let me see that?" He rubbed his scar. "Want me to see him getting tortured?" Dumbledore, as always, knew exactly what he meant; he looked crestfallen. "It is a test." His voice rang with the injustice , the unfairness of it all. "Of his loyalties. He wants to see how attached he really is to you by judging your actions." "We must do nothing?" Harry's palm was still plastered to his forehead. He knew the answer before it came, long before the old man sighed. "Why- why does he keep doing it?" He was not going to let his opportunity slip away this time, and he knew the Headmaster realized it.

"To protect you, Harry. To protect you." For _him._ No one should have to suffer like that because of him. But people had died because of him. Cedric… an innocent soul who never got to live. And Sirius. Oh, Sirius. He felt sick, suddenly. He never wanted it to happen again. Harry's body couldn't take it anymore, it rebelled despite all of his resistance, and the contents of his stomach appeared on the floor.

Everything went black.


	7. Sick

. Vii. Sick

* * *

The next instant he felt something cool and calming on his forehead, and heard a voice that could only belong to one person. "Lie still, Potter." That made him sit up faster than he'd catch a snitch. How strange it was to see a man you last saw writhing in pain on the hard ground surrounded by trim hedges now sitting next to you with that cold, assuming front like you had been the one who had been in trouble. "Head as hard as a brick wall…"

Snape looked different, to say the least. He had ditched the robes, and black sleeves were rolled up to reveal a shamelessly vibrant (still) Dark Mark. It was the first time Harry had ever seen it, and it could only mean one thing: Snape had been taking care of him. No. "Where is Dumbledore?" No. No. Snape was not going to be ruthlessly battered and interrogated for him and then play nursemaid. He had given up too much for him already. No way.

"The Headmaster left hours ago." Raising an eyebrow, Snape stood and walked over to a dresser. On it stood a bubbling cauldron, and Snape emptied the liquid into the bowl with a ladle before returning to the bed. It was just then that Harry realized his room was strewn with numerous ugly substances that stank to high heaven. The Potions Master must have been in his element. Suddenly, Harry felt a sturdy hand supporting the back of his head and the bowl being lifted to his lips. "Swallow. Don't spill. Swallow." Harry obeyed, glad for once at being told what to do.

"It sickens me, what he does," he said lowly, and judging by the look on Snape's face it was nothing new to him. "Obviously." Harry let his face be whipped off again, revelling in how good it felt. Then it hit him. Snape was the most competent staff member at Hogwarts to deal with medicines besides Poppy Pomfrey herself. He probably came back wounded from Death Eater meetings often and as the youngest Potions Master in Britain knew just the right remedies.

But his musings were soon interrupted by the sound of the front door closing- whoever was here was smart enough not to ring the doorbell. Snape left quickly, without the usual billowing effect but just plain black slacks, pushing his sleeves down as he went- which made Harry feel, for a flickering instant, pride. He did not want the guest to see it, but felt comfortable letting Harry see it. He grinned a moment later as Ron entered the room with Fred and George in tow. "Happy birthday, mate!" Their elated expressions soon twisted to those of concern. "How are you?" asked Fred smally, and Harry thought he must still be quite pasty. "I'm fine," he forced a smile, not at all difficult, and Ron looked relieved as he pulled a box out from behind his back and laid it on the nightstand. "It's from Mum. She only wanted a few of us to bother you at a time, hearing how bad you were…" Ron's voice had died to a whisper. "You don't have to tell us, but we were wondering what happened to make you so ill, today…"

Was it his birthday, really? Why else would he have gotten a cake? He knew he was going to tell them, because he always told them, and they needed to know. "It was Snape being tortured by Voldemort. For me." He shuddered. They would never know the horror. Not being able to stop it. None of them knew how to respond to that. George looked around curiously as if to avert his gaze. "This room is in tatters, Harry." "I've been out for a couple of hours." They were so easily distracted. By the light coming in through the windows it appeared to be late afternoon.

"Are Hermione and Ginny coming?" Sadly, George shook his head. "You're pretty shaken up. We weren't supposed to stay long…" "I'll walk you out." But he was too weak. He was too weak, and they weren't going to let him get away with it. It all seemed so familiar, as if it had happened before. "Snape says if you so much as stick a big toe out of bed he will personally murder us. You wouldn't want to be responsible for the untimely deaths of three Hogwarts, would you?" The words were light, but Fred seemed to realize his mistake- a lump seemed to be forming in his throat.

"We were wondering if there was a reason he was more civil today." He actually gulped. "I appreciate you coming, guys." "Mom said not to eat your cake until you're recovered, mate. She's real worried about ya." People were worried about him, they cared about him. Harry gave a true smile now. "Tell her I'll be fine, Ron. Sorry you couldn't stay longer." "We'll be back," Ron returned the smile and departed with his brothers. Harry sighed, left alone with his thoughts.

It wasn't long, though, before the Potions Master returned, looking glum. Harry's heart lurched. "You will need to take a nutritional potion every hour, to speed along your recovery," he was informed. This seemed to pull a string, irritate something deep inside of him. They were going to talk about it, if he had been made to spill his guts about his less-than-glamourous home life. "Mighty speedy recovery you had," he retorted, rude as it was. Snape was snarling now, but it could not bother Harry anymore, and he would not let him hide. "I have my methods. You are a nosy brat, Potter, who has never yet reacted as such to seeing people under the Cruciatus, or severing their own limbs in front of you, or bleeding helplessly when you could not do anything. I might inquire as to that." The sallow face looked triumphant. Snape, turning his nose up at Harry, focused his attention back to the simmering potion.

"It was out of the blue." He knew as soon as it left his lips that Snape would not accept the excuse. "You are exhausting," he said, laying his wand and the full cauldron on the dresser. Then, to Harry's shock, he sat on the end of the bed. For the second time that day. "Quirrell said that day you did not want me to did. I don't want you to die either." He could not meet those hard black eyes. Snape snorted. "I was not dying. It was the Cruciatus. And how touching." There was a hint of amusement in the otherwise dry voice. "The Cruciatus!" Harry screamed. "Reliving your worst nightmares under unendurable-" "I am quite familiar with it. Get. Over. Yourself." He was annoyed now, very. There was a long pause filled with repulsion, and then Snape sighed, giving up.

I am quite familiar with it, the words spun around in Harry's brain. I am quite familiar with it. What else was not being said? And why did it bother him more than- Then he got it. "They didn't do it all the time. Once." It was quieter than he wanted it to be. Swiftly the dark-haired man stood to attend that was making noises now, threatening, which gave him a moment to contemplate the boy's words. He knew he had some explaining to do before the Gryffindor would be satisfied. But of course the twat continued on as if to himself, as if he were alone. "Why did you get so upset? When you found out about the Dursleys?" He hadn't meant to ask it, it gave away too much, but he had been itching to… burning too…

"Let's just say that our childhoods were not all that dissimilar." He held a ladle out to Harry full of moss green liquid and the boy downed it. What? Had Snape been abused too? What else did he not know? It make sense. In class he had ears in the farthest corners and eyes in the back of his head- skills Harry himself had picked up. The way he could out-maneuver you at every turn, almost slippery. It fit, like pieces of a puzzle. It had given him the traits he needed to be a good spy. Harry nodded in understanding but did not dare reply. So the Cruciatus really was nothing. Harry took a deep breath. But why would he ever admit that they were in any way similar?

"How do you do it? All that pain then, how do you keep on now?" He was dying to know, trying desperately to keep a tear from escaping. "You really want to know? You truly believe you are strong enough?" It was a genuine question. Floored, Harry nodded again, seizing the opportunity. His eyes were closed; this time a tear did fall. I hope he didn't see it. "Get up. What day is it, Mr. Potter?" Hastily Harry flung the covers off of himself and stood. "July 31rst, sir." Why was that relevant? "I do believe," continued Snape slowly, as if considering, "that it is customary to give a person a gift when it is that person's birthday." The raised eyebrow was back- he was studying the boy's reaction.

A gift- from Snape? This can't be good. "Follow me. Quickly." The before I change my mind was not necessary; Harry obeyed the sudden orders readily. He was led down the stairs and to the sitting room, much brighter as sun shined in through the pale curtains. Harry watched, unsure, as Snape removed from a brown cabinet a silver basin encrusted with runes and stones, which he placed on the center table.

A Pensieve.

"Dumbledore left it here, strangely enough, and I think I know why," came the explanation. He was going to enter Snape's mysteries- though with permission this time. He held back a shudder as a long, frothy, cloudy strand separated itself from the dark, greasy head and fell neatly into the bowl. Harry was instantly curious. The thoughts began to swirl around- he began to dive-

"Aren't you coming?" The reply was only a venomous hiss in space-

"Absolutely not."


	8. Comfort

A/N: Considering that people do not read fanfiction to reread the book, I have omitted Harry's journey through the Pensieve (though I have always been curious as to what was going through his head then, as we mostly receive description and not his actual emotions). Please refer to The Prince's Tale to learn what he saw, except for the part about murdering Dumbledore. And Harry DOES know now that it was Snape who revealed the prophecy. Please, please forgive me for how OOC Snape may be here. I know he's not the cuddly type. I promise you I really do… (Sniffles sadly). Thank you to each of my wonderful readers! You are the reason I am stressing so hard to get all this typed, and so quickly. Thank you!

VIII. Comfort

* * *

Then it vanished, it all vanished, and Harry found himself once again in the living room of Twelve Grimmauld Place, staring at the sallow face of a man he had just seen seconds ago, and half an hour ago. Harry was smiling. "That is the best birthday present I have ever gotten. Thank you." It was the honest truth. He knew what it must have cost Snape to show him all of that. He was, to say the least, a very private man, never open. But he didn't expect his words to have that impact. Snape looked startled, rocked to the core.

He had not been prepared for that.

"I'm the reason you have no parents, Potter. You have every right to be angry." But did he? This felt wrong to Harry, and then it hit him like a slap in the face. "That's how you do it, isn't it? You feel like you deserved it all." He was shaking, hard. How else could anyone withstand the Cruciatus, and whatever else that monster decided to do to his servants? He looked the man in the eye; it seemed like Snape couldn't breathe as he planted himself on the couch. He was trembling, too.

"You don't." And he had to know that. He had to. But he got no response, and so sat down too. "You loved her, didn't you?" He had no idea what made him say it at all; he knew it would cause unendurable pain, it just flew out. Snape met Harry's gaze. Harry knew the answer before it came. "It has not stopped." Snape's eyes closed in painful remembrance, and Harry felt the need, for some reason, to offer comfort. It was an instinct. "It's okay." Seeing someone normally hard as stone unable to control himself and in this vulnerable, weakened state was unbearable. "You swore to protect me."

This man had no reason to live, no reason to keep going, except… keeping him safe. And he had dedicated his life to that. "I intend to." That too was unexpected, and without meaning to (how did it happen, he really should have known better) Harry found himself up against Snape's side, and felt an arm around his shoulder. "I'm sorry." He had to say it. "So am I." And then both were lost in another world, Harry combing over and over again what he had seen. Anything. He would do anything. "I forgive you," he said then, "though you need to hear it from her. Well, what happened, it would have made her very happy." He was sure of it. But he wasn't sure, he scolded himself later, why he snuggled closer, or felt so incredibly safe here. He was pleased to find a steady hand stroking the back of his head. He was not sixteen today, no not yet, he had never been a child-

"Thank you. For everything." "There is no need, Potter." There it was again, but it wasn't okay, not anymore. "Please don't call me that. I never like it when you did, it was always just a name with the others, but you, you said it because I reminded you of him, I thought it was deliberately to sting." That had been buried very, very deep, but it was a day for subconsciouses boiling over. "I didn't know that." _Well how could you?_ "And there is need," Harry went on, "because without you I would be dead and we would almost…" He was getting choked up now. "I almost never got a chance to say it. It could have been too late, I'm glad you showed me."

There was a serious lump in that throat he had… "Dumbledore puts a lot on your shoulders." Did he feel Snape sigh? "Oh, trust me, he puts a lot more on yours." But Harry was just shaking his head. "I don't think so. I mean, I don't have to lie to Lord Voldemort everyday. You're very brave." For once he wasn't corrected on the name, and he was shivering now, but he could swear he felt a reassuring squeeze on his arm. "Only cowardice drives one to the Dark Lord, Harry." The name- it- it made him go warm. He was a little boy again. "But you came back." A hesitation. "Yes, I did." Harry looked up; their eyes met, ebony staring into green. "I saw myself. That time fifth year in your Pensieve. My Dad was Dudley, fat and ugly, Sirius was Piers, joining in, that rat and his friend Pettigrew and Remus. And I… _I_ was you." "I know." "It must be hard to get past it. But you don't-"

The words were broken up, he could barely get them out- "Hate me, do you?" It was still ringing in his ears. _Lazy, arrogant, been crossing lines since he came to school..._ Quirrell again- _Heavens yes, your father-_

To his shock he felt himself being held, really held. "No, I do not." Relief flooded through him; it had never mattered so much. "Dumbledore was right, I saw what I expected to see. A big-headed, sneaky, pestering Quidditch star-" That gave Harry a new understanding. "That was why you were paying such close attention at my first game!" The revelation should not have been as surprising as it was. "I suppose so." "And then I went about being a thorn in your side, making your job so much harder-" "It is rather hard to protect someone always off into other people's business." Harry knew better than to laugh. "I was all those things," he said reflectively. "I did sneak around, I did pester, and I was good at Quidditch. I must have been a terrible disappointment as her son." He sighed, and could feel Snape's chest move as he sighed too.

"Honestly, you were more of a disappointment as his son. Inquizzitive, intelligent, eager- just like your mother." He had Harry's attention now. A compliment? From Professor Snape? "Did hell freeze over?" "Watch it, kid!" Harry was beaming now. It was hard _not_ to laugh. "Don't push it, I know," he said, and without his permission a tear fell from his cheek, making a splotch on the black fabric of Snape's shirt. "I see her to, you know. In the Mirror of Erised," he went on. "Do you?" It wasn't really a question. They were sharing it, the moment, though Harry knew the other didn't want to, probably, not with him.

"You never looked." "No." Harry thought about this for a moment. "Dumbledore did that on purpose, leaving the door open so I could find it. That was a great idea, those potions and the riddle." "Not really, a group of eleven-year-olds got past it. And Dumbledore does a lot of things like that."

"He lied to me. He said that you worked so hard to save me that year so you could go back to hating my father in peace. But it had nothing to do with my father, and everything to do with my mother." "Quite observant, aren't we?" It was all coming together now, strung in little pieces; it all made sense, and was all spilling out. "Professor Snape?" "Yes, Harry?" He was using the name like a natural, like he'd always done it, and Harry couldn't help it. He smiled. "I'm glad I get to eb in your class next year after all. Though Potions will be quite different-" "Maybe- maybe I could tudor you." The past, all their differences, had fallen away, like a cloud lifting. Harry wanted to be close to his Professor then, suddenly, and knew it was mutual.

"My father was a no good, good-for-nothing-" "Harry?" "He stole her away from you." "Look at me." "I did that. Me. I cannot blame him, and you do not have to atone for his sin like you must mine- mine, because you were an orphan who was unloved and I cast my childhood on to you. You need to know this, so please listen. You'll return to yourself in the morning, but remember: I went crawling to him because he craved importance. Importance, and power. It was the worst mistake I ever made. It did more than cost me your mother, it cost me…" "Happiness," realized Harry, in twisted, awful understanding. This was a tortured soul he leaned on, who nodded sadly. That was when he started to cry, really cry, and someone whipped the tears, too on his afflictions, though they were afflicted themselves. And he rather liked it, being comforted, and before he could stop himself he shut his eyes. He was exhausted, drained, wanted to get as far away from the cold past as possible, never wanted it to end- he felt _warm_ here, cared for, protected. But all the bitterness inside kept him from sleeping. He had nothing left to say, they had spilled all their secrets. Except- one thing he had forgotten-

"Did it work? Did he believe you?" Of course Snape knew exactly what he was implying. "Yes, it did. Though it will be a while before I am elevated to my former status." Unconsciously Harry shivered- he was being thrust back there, to that awful, murderous beast, that selfish monster who represented everything wrong with the universe. "I shouldn't be sorry," he said, thinking out loud (something he never would have felt comfortable doing with Snape before) "Dumbledore said your work is invaluable, and we need the inside intelligence, we need you, but… I am sorry." It stung, the realization that while the inhuman villain lived, this man could never be free, not ever, as long as he was in servitude to Lord Voldemort. He shuddered, but was stilled immediately by the sturdy arms around him. "We will defeat him. He was confidant, as sure as the moon hung in the sky. The reply was barely a whisper. "That will be the day."

It was okay, then, to drift off into dreams…

A/N: Please, please don't kill me.


	9. Death and Dumbledore

A/N: Naturally the conversation between Dumbledore and Snape is very recognizable from Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows, but disclaimer disclaimer yada yada. If it is not 100% perfect that is because I did not use the book at all, just my brain. Sorry.

* * *

IX. Death and Dumbledore

* * *

He was afraid, when he woke, that he had been left all alone to drown in the hollow emptiness and the sorrow of what he had seen; but Snape must have known what that was like, because he hadn't left. The sun had set, and he was, in fact, as dead asleep as Harry had been. Harry chuckled at the sight but did not move for fear of waking his Professor. But he need not have worried- his rumbling stomach was the culprit.

"You must be hungry," Snape observed, looking at Harry, who thought he saw a smile behind the black eyes for the first time. Harry nodded, so to the kitchen they went, gloomy as it was, and it wasn't long before something smelling delicious was simmering on the stove. Cooking must not be all that different from potions, Harry mused, so of course Snape would be good at it. They ate under the light of a single electric lamp, as naturally as if they had always done it. But the dimness did not stop an observant Potions Master from catching a glimpse of a certain scar on Harry Potter's right hand.

"What happened?" THey boy gasped as he laid down his spoon and looked at the injured spot, which did not help Snape's impatience. "There is Veritaserum in this house, so we can do it the easy way or the hard way." Harry sighed. "We are not at Hogwarts, it is not illegal…" Snape went on. You would use it anyway, Harry thought grumpily, before he grudgingly gave it up.

"It was Umbridge. During those detentions she could be quite… nasty." But of course that wasn't any explanation at all.

"Nasty," Snape repeated. "I made you clean toad guts off my floor and scrape off dirty first-year cauldrons. I knew she was unpopular-" That pause again. "But I had no idea she had me beat. What exactly did she have you do that was so… nasty?"

Harry suddenly became engrossed in his soup, realizing he had totally missed his Professor's dry sense of humor amidst the insults. "Lines," he mumbled. Nope, not good enough either.

"You wrote lines." The incredulity in Snape's voice was enough, it always was.

"WIth a blood quill. Whatever I wrote became etched in my skin," Harry continued. He sighed again as his teacher gestured across the table for his hand so he could inspect it. It had faded, over the last couple of months, but was still irritatingly red. And the words were still blatantly visible, as if they were being deliberate. "I must not tell lies," Snape recited. Harry braced himself for the lecture, for the _you-are-such- a dunderhead-why-can't-you-stay-out-of-detention-what-lies-why-could-you-_

 _not-keep-your-trap-shut-in- Umbridge's class?_

But the man continued to surprise him after last night. It was just, "You weren't lying, were you?"

He shook his head slowly. "Voldemort really was back. She said Cedric's death was a tragic accident."

"And, naturally, you got defensive," Snape supplied. "She was rather vile. I can't say I don't understand, but you still should have told someone."

Harry grinned, never having had such a conversation with this intimidating man. Not even Sirius would have reacted without scolding. "What, and give her the satisfaction?" Harry protested.

"I get it. Nevertheless you inaction allowed her cruel inflictions to continue. Did you try Essence of Murtlap?" He was right, of course. As always. The teenager nodded. "Granger," Snape said knowingly. "How did you get them to stay quiet?"

"They respected my wishes," came the plain reply. He began stirring his soup around again, then looked up at his teacher. "You gave her fake Veritaserum, didn't you? So I didn't drink any…"

"Wouldn't do any good to have you spilling all the Order's secrets and giving away Black's location, would it? As if Umbridge weren't suspicious enough."

Harry vividly recalled pouring out the tea, but not after being forced some- just before she had asked about Sirius. "Fool woman used up everything I gave her. I told her three drops," Snape ranted.

"That worked to our advantage," Harry reminded him.

"Whatever did you do to her, anyway?" Snape asked. "I am curious."

"The Centaurs ran her off." This time Harry knew he wasn't imagining things when the corners of Snape's lips turned up in a smile. SHe had gotten what she deserved. But both were shaken from the bleariness by a heavy pounding on the door, and Harry followed to put Mrs. Black's tirade to an end. "MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS, THE SHAME YOU BRING!" But her words went right over Harry's head. There stood-

"Professor McGonagall!" And she was supporting a limp (but conscious) Dumbledore, who was mumbling; and his hands and neck, and even his ears, were coal black, as if they had been burned. Harry gasped loudly.

"We tried to take him to the Hospital Wing when he returned but he insisted forcefully that he needed you, Severus!" There had never been such panic in her voice in all the years Harry had known her. What had happened? But Snape, never one to ask idle questions, knew just what to do. He helped lead Dumbledore to the living room couch and set him down. A concerned sixteen year old followed, curious. "It had something to do with this, Severus. This ring." She dropped it into Snape's hand. It was gold, but appeared to be- broken, almost blackened, destroyed totally. Snape clutched it tightly; he knew exactly what it was. Before he could speak, however, or do anything, Minerva went on. "He practically begged me to take him to you, I didn't want to, but he didn't hear anything else. He said you were the only one who could help, that you would know what to do-"

She was gulping the words, frightened, gloved hands flying to her mouth at the sight of the Headmaster. But Snape was already standing over Dumbledore and muttering what Harry could only assume were healing incantations, pressing his wand directly to the afflicted areas rather than waving it aimlessly. It was horrific to watch. While the battered patches did, in fact, return to that familiar aged skin color, pale and faded, his left hand did not- in fact, it only seemed to get worse. It got darker and darker and was close to throbbing. And then, as Snape's voice got lower and lower and he seemed to be uttering the spell faster and with greater urgency, Harry figured out what he was doing. It took twenty minutes, thirty, and he and McGonagall were frozen in space, glued to the floor, unable to do anything, mesmerized.

Finally, finally, at last, Snape seemed to be able to tear himself away, only then, and look at both of them with that air of importance. "My makeshift lab in the basement, Potter. Get me the roots, and two types of herbs. I will need the furtlap and blood stabilizing potion from my stores at Hogwarts and extra supplies, Minerva, as much as you can grab. I have healing potion here, but it won't do much. Anesthetic is useless-" Neither waited to hear more; Harry was already halfway downstairs and so did not see McGonagall Disapparate.

Roots, roots, and herbs. They weren't hard to find, but were brittle and fragile. He almost broke them in haste. Upstairs he was greeted with a sharp, "Boil them!" and so he set the water on and returned. Snape was fussing over the Headmaster, patting his cheeks, checking pulse and heartbeat, and even fever. He was frantic. "Start on a pain potion, fast." The cauldron was on the table instantly and in seconds Harry felt Snape working beside him. He was mincing greens without second thought, not processing that he had done it so many times in class he had it memorized. Then something else came to mind.

"A Bezoar? Could-" "It is not poison. Keep it _even._ " Harry tried to reign in his focus, but it was hard. THe liquid was bubbling in the cauldron, close to exploding (he knew from experience) but Snape was too quick, adding something to counteract it. Then he quickly took the completely herbs from Harry and dumped them in. "Stir," Snape commanded, moving into the kitchen to put the roots in- just as McGonagall returned. Her arms were bulging with a white sack she spread out on a clear space on the table, just as Snape came back.

He was unscrewing the lid of a mason jar he had grabbed from the cloth- and by the odor Harry recognized ginger. He came up behind Harry and began putting in teaspoons at a time. "Don't move. Steady, don't change direction." Harry was glad to be helpful, of use, doing something and not just standing there. "Healing salve, Minerva." "Right." She found it in a kitchen drawer and began to tend Dumbledore's limp hand- and everywhere else that had been hit. The man was still mumbling.

"Bring me the roots! Quickly, now!" Again McGonagall was quick to come to his aid, handing them off like they were hot potatoes. In they went. The concoction went still- it looked a pukish midnight blue. They took a step back, Snape whipping off his sweaty forehead with the sleeve of his robes. It had gotten hot, and without thinking MCGonagall handed him the handkerchief she kept in her pocket. "What was it?" she asked timidly, shakily. "Severus?" She did not get an answer, and was not going to.

"What now?" Harry tried, instead. That was acceptable.

"We wait." McGonagall and Harry exchanged looks. Neither dared say more. "Minerva." Snape's gaze shifted from the deadened ring on the table to the woman he addressed. "What time did he come to you?"

She knew better than to add any extra fluff. "Ten minutes before I arrived here." Snape swore under his breath. This was not good, not good at all.

"That had been setting in for more than ten minutes."

"I don't have any explanation for any of it! I thought you might!" A huff of agitation and Snape was off again, pouring the liquid into a golden encrusted goblet and, supporting Dumbledore's head, then gently down the aged wizard's throat. This seemed to bring him back to himself; Dumbledore's gaze narrowed, and he sat up straighter.

"Surely you realized the ring carried a curse; it was obviously full of dark magic! Why even touch it?"

"I was- sorely tempted," came the tepid reply, and Harry's heart lurched. He had a feeling he knew by what. But Snape wasn't having any of it.

"By what?" So the ring had been cursed. A curse. Dumbledore was inspecting his damaged hand now.

"You have done well, Severus," he said. "I am very fortunate."

"I have managed to contain it- for now. It will spread." The finality with which he said those words made Harry shudder. What?

"I am fortunate, extremely fortunate that I have you, Severus," he repeated. This did nothing to appease the man's anger.

"If only you had come to me sooner, I might have been able to do more, buy you more time!"

"How long do I have?" The way he asked it, as if it was of no particular importance, made Harry want to cry. Snape seemed to contemplate for a moment; McGonagall watched on in anticipation.

"A year, at most." McGonagall was definitely going to cry now.

"This makes it even more straightforward, then." So the wheels had been turning in Dumbledore's head too. He looked at Snape very seriously. "We both know Lord Voldemort has ordered the Malfoy boy to murder me. And should he fail, I presume that the Dark Lord should turn to you." What? Voldemort told Draco to kill Dumbledore? Draco was a Death Eater just like his parents?

"That, I presume, I his plan," answered Snape carefully, as if he could sense where this was going and did not like it one bit. "He does not expect Draco to succeed. This is merely punishment for Lucius's recent failures. Slow torture for his parents, while the boy fails to carry out the plans." Harry shivered- you could not underestimate Voldemort's cruelty. This was sick pleasure for him.

"The boy has a death sentence on his head as surely as I have, then," Dumbledore continued. Snape nodded. Yes. Harry never thought he would feel sorry for a Malfoy.

"What are you planning on doing, then? Are you intending to let him kill you?" Snape shot back.

"No. _You_ must kill me." McGonagall's eyes were nearly bugging out of her skull. How could this be happening?

"Would you like me to do it now, or would you like a moment to compose an epitaph?" Snape was in disbelief too, arms crossed. He could not believe he was being asked to do something so…. Massive, serious. But Dumbledore waved it off.

"Oh, not quite yet. We can be sure, however, that it will happen within a year," he said nonchalantly. Careful, Snape just might be angry enough to do it now, Harry observed. Maybe he wasn't just being funny. "That boy's soul is not yet so damaged. I would not have it split apart on my account." So your soul splits when you commit murder. It explained Voldemort's deformity.

Snape said then what they were all thinking. "And my soul, Dumbledore? Mine?"

"Only you know if it will harm you soul to help an old man avoid pain and humiliation. I would much prefer it to that slow demise, or if I should be paid a visit by our friend Fenrir Greyback. Or dear Bellatrix, who likes to play with her food before she eats it." He sounded almost playful. This was moving too fast, much too fast. Fenrir Greyback- the one who had bitten Lupin- Bellatrix Lestrange- who killed Sirius and tortured the Longbottoms- Killed Sirius.

And now he was losing Dumbledore too. It was all too much, his head started spinning.

"It is the only way. Only then will Lord Voldemort trust you completely." Snape still said nothing, taking it all in. Beside Harry, Minerva McGonagall gasped. Loudly. But it was easy for both to ignore her. "I am depending on you to remain in Lord Voldemort's good books as long as possible. I trust you will protect the students of Hogwarts?" Snape nodded right away, and then Dumbledore surprised them by turning to his Deputy Headmistress and the Boy Who Lived. "This is strictly confidential, do you understand?"

Harry got the unsaid hint. Do not say anything to Draco Malfoy… or Ron Weasley… or Hermione Granger… or anyone. "Yes, sir." "Of course, Albus." McGonagall sounded defeated. By now they had all forgotten about the ring of Morfin Gaunt, Voldemort's uncle, and so none of them asked about it.

"Next year, I hope you will not mind having private lessons with me, Harry," Dumbledore went on. And Dumbledore was dying.

"Of course not, sir." That smile. That twinkle in the blue eyes. Had he taken it all for granted?

"Very good, my boy. Thank you again, Severus, for everything." He squeezed Snape's hand, like he had at the beginning of the summer.

The whole thing made Harry feel very ill, and this prompted McGonagall to say, "Come, Mr. Potter. It is almost midnight, you must be exhausted." She extended her hand, and a smile, and Harry gladly took it.

"You wish to stay here, then, Minerva?" Dumbledore asked.

"If Professor Snape does not object." Snape said nothing.

"Ah, yes, thank you, too. You as well, Harry. Goodnight," the old man said. Harry felt no shame, oddly, at being taken to bed by his Head of House, as if he were caught past curfew at Hogwarts. It was laughable, after what he had just heard.

"I owe you a happy belated birthday, Mr. Potter." Honestly, that was the least of his worries now. They stopped in front of his bedroom door.

"Thank you, Professor." The door opened; she took one look inside and shook her head.

"You have quite a mess to clean tomorrow." And she would make him do it, too. He grinned up at her. "Get some sleep."

"Yes ma'am." The door closed again, this time with him inside it. Tomorrow she would ask why they had been up at such an hour, and he did not wish to tell her. It was enough to make him crash as if he were on a sugar high. How, he didn't know, after everything.


	10. Coming to Terms

X. Coming to Terms

* * *

But he slept late the next morning, until long after the sun was up. Feeling rushed, he did not even bother to comb back his sweaty mop of hair before barreling into the kitchen. "Easy there dear. Don't throw yourself into a tizzy." He could not believe who was standing there.

"Hi, Mrs. Weasley. I didn't expect to see you here." And the understatement of the year award goes to… She was standing bent over the stove, the smell of bacon wafting through the air. It was hypnotizing.

"Just came to check up on you, of course. Arthur will be here any minute." With that she came over and nearly squeezed the life out of him. "Well, sit down, dear." This woman was the closest thing he had to a mother. He was glad to see her, as always- but this time was different.

"Um… where is Professor Snape?" He had never thought he'd see the day where he preferred Snape's company to Mrs. Weasley's. But he could sit in quiet with Snape, and he honestly didn't feel like talking right now, even if they had things to discuss.

"In bed with a migraine. Professor McGonagall went back to take care of some things with the Headmaster." What things, he wanted to know. Asking would only get him scolded for being nosy, though. It was just then that he realized that she was looking at him funny. He hadn't even asked about McGonagall. "I am surprised you two didn't burn the house down." She set a plate of eggs in front of him. Don't be silly, Harry thought. But she couldn't know. A loud crash from the living room distracted him, and Mrs. Weasley hurried out. "Arthur, do be quiet! Severus had a bad headache; must you be so terribly noisy?" Harry snickered. If the initial sound hadn't woken him her fussing certainly would.

"Sorry, Molly…" Both reentered the room beaming. Mr. Weasley was brushing soot off from his suit still, from floo travel. "And hello to you, Harry."

"Hi, Mr. Weasley." He pushed his plate back. He had little appetite. "Where are the rest of them?" This did not escape Mrs. Weasley's sharp eye; she pushed it back to him like a fussy grandmother.

"Eat."

"The twins are more than capable," Mr. Weasley answered, and Harry grinned at that. Right, he must be insane. Then he noticed the wink. "As long as Ron is there to set them straight." The redhead sat down, taking in his surroundings. "So what did transpire to render your Professor incapable of joining us?" Harry felt nauseous. Snape had gotten ill at the very thought of killing the Headmaster. How could he explain? He just shook his head, over and over again. " You certainly didn't do anything to give him a headache, did you?" That idea, now, was positively ludicrous. Snape was never, ever absent from class.

"Nothing worse than usual." With that he began shoveling eggs in his mouth. They could have no idea what happened last night, he's teasing me like always. But he recognized that knot in this stomach he'd had upon waking up, if only for a brief instant- he was afraid Snape had abandoned him. It was legit fear- everybody else had. Even Sirius was gone.

"Oh, Arthur," chortled Mrs. Weasley, coming behind them with the pan of bacon. "So Harry dear I was wondering if you wanted to join us for some shopping in Diagon Alley." He wanted to be alone. He had taken it for granted, the big, almost empty house. He needed time to think. "We're meeting Hermione there." But not that much. He did want to go, just… not yet. Not now.

"I'd love to," he said, before he briefly remembered that he was supposed to be eating and began fiddling with a piece of the hot pork. Was there really only a month until school began? "And Happy Birthday, Harry," put in Mr. Weasley. "Sorry we couldn't drop by yesterday." Harry was glad they hadn't.

"Thanks. And thanks so much for the cake, Mrs. Weasley, it was really thoughtful." He had yet to touch it, but she was beaming as she rustled his hair.

"Better go tidy up this rat's nest if you insist on eating like a bird. Can we count on seeing you in two weeks?" she asked. Harry nodded because he couldn't do anything else, and was glad to depart with a small wave. He had not been hungry anyway. Harry showered and dressed as if in a race and was utterly shocked to find someone waiting for him in the hallway.

"Dobby!" The little elf was bouncing up and down; he wasn't wearing his usual stack of tea-hats that had been the result of Hermione's S.P.E.W. operations.

"Dobby is very glad to see Harry Potter, sir! Dobby is always honored to see Harry Potter." With that he gave a sort of squeal that made Harry smile.

"You certainly seemed surprised to see me."

"Headmaster Dumbledore sent Dobby to check on Professor Snape, but he is not telling Dobby what is wrong with him, sir! And he is not saying you is here too, Harry Potter, sir!" That did sound like Dumbledore. Growing serious, Harry knelt by the elf, tennis ball eyes glowing up at him. Dobby sort of sniffled a little. "The Professor is not doing good, Harry Potter. He has got a fever and should not leave bed. But he does not want Dobby's help!" This appeared to distress him very much, his little body wracked with shacking. It made sense to Harry, though. When you take care of yourself you don't want anyone else to do it. Ever.

"He probably just wants to be alone. I'll take care of him, Dobby." Even though he doesn't want to see me either, he finished in his head.

"Oh, Harry Potter is most gracious, sir, most gracious!" Harry had to laugh outright at that.

"Thanks. I'll visit you at Hogwarts, okay?" After the elf had Disapparated he went straight downstairs through every book in the makeshift lab in the basement looking for the recipe for fever-reducer potion. Luckily Snape had copies of all schools texts, and he finally found it in what he recognized as his second-year Potions textbook. It took him almost an hour to brew. When it was done he headed down to the master bedroom. He knocked twice and got no answer. "Professor?"

He opened the door slowly, in case he was asleep, it did not creek. Snape was not asleep, however. He was sitting up in bed with his palm clasped to his forehead. Harry, of all people, knew what that felt like. The door opened wider and he stepped into the room. His presence was acknowledged with a stiff, "What are you doing here?" and he knew better than to retort. Instead he just came forward and handed him the vial, corked and ready, as if it were the end of a potions class.

"Fever-reducer, sir." Snape looked at him skeptically but took it, sniffing it before drinking it. It took a moment to take effect, a long, icy moment in which Snape was critiquing it, Harry knew. And sure enough…

"You did well. The consistency was off, but we can fix that. Everything else was right." Well, well. So miracles can happen. Harry decided then not to beat around the bush.

"It's not fair of him to make you do that." He could feel his pounding heart pump blood throughout his veins, but he did not care. It did not matter. Snape frowned from his upright position on the bed, but it was not like the ones he usually directed at Harry. It was laced with sadness.

"Life is not fair." All this seemed to do was make Harry angry.

"Being forced to kill the only man who ever believed in you? Life is being pretty unfair, Snape." That earned him a death glare.

"I do not need your pity, or anyone else's." But Harry was fired up now, and was not going to let up so easily.

"You must feel so _alone."_ It was direct, it was precise, it was accurate. "Everyone else will think it's in cold blood. You will have no one."

He knew what Snape wanted to say to that: 'I have never needed anyone.' But it was not true, and he could not fool Harry with it anymore. "I must do what he needs me to, Harry." A reminder that this was not the same man he used to know. It was like a stab in the chest, that sense of duty in the face of pure hatred, the middle of war.

"He left all his plans- you- have to finish what he started. Everything. He left it all to you." The words seemed to get constricted with the tightness he felt in his chest, like it was encased in rubber bands, and it made him fumble, made the words stick in his throat.

"It is nothing I can't handle. I must do my job. Now if you are quite done analyzing my every emotion, is there anything else?" But the boy was not listening- his eyes were shut tight like he was struggling not to hit something.

"Why are you hiding? It is a lot of pressure, and it's okay to admit that-"

"Is that what you want to hear?" Harry opened his green eyes to stare into the ebony ones.

"You're going to miss him, too." This was an internal battle.

"Yes." The answer came slow, unsteady, but it was sure. Something inside Harry seemed to release him.

"Are you feeling better, sir?"

"Yes, thank you. Now if you would leave me in peace." Harry understood. He had opened wounds, touched something raw. Snape probably felt exposed, he had always needed privacy. So he nodded and left without saying anything more. He was startled to find the Headmaster in the kitchen where the Weasleys had been; they must have left.

"Harry, I would appreciate it if you would not look at me like that for an entire year." But he was smiling. Badgered, Harry took a seat.

"Sorry, sir, I-"

"I know. It is alright. But if we are intent on keeping the secret, you must wear a bit of a mask." Dumbledore leaned in, his voice very low, and Harry felt like there was something, crawling up his spine. A mask.

"You made him sick, you know. That wasn't right." Oh geez, was he going to be such a pest about every little thing? Now he had bothered them both in one morning.

"I am very grateful to him, my boy. There is no one I trust more to do the job. I have asked much of him, in the confidence that he will carry through. Continue the fight, this war." No silence had ever, ever felt more heavy. He got the feeling that Dumbledore was going to confide in him, tell him something very important. "I have asked him to watch over you, Harry."

"He will." His head was spinning- it was almost making him dizzy.

"It is a long way off, you must know. But when the time comes-"

"I pray I won't be there," he interrupted. Dumbledore smiled at him.

"One never knows these things. I do much prefer it this way. It could be much worse. I have asked him a favor; he is helping me." Helping. Huh.

"You have a strange way of looking at things."

"So some say. But you mustn't be glum. After all, to the well-organized mind, death is but the next great adventure." He had said so before, but it offered no comfort. "I will not truly be gone. We will see each other again, Harry." _The ones who love us never really leave us,_ Sirius's words echoed in his head. Many things were flashing in his mind.

"I thought you said it was a long way off." The hand was lifeless; and Harry wondered then how Snape was not worse. He could not bear to look at it.

"I hope you will forgive me, Harry." The tears were flowing now, and Harry looked into those blue eyes and said something he knew needed to be said, that Dumbledore needed to hear. Something he should have said a long time ago.

"I do."

"I shall see you at Hogwarts, Harry."

And then he was gone.

They were left alone.


	11. Reflections

XI. Reflections

* * *

"Don't go so quickly." The lab was darker than it needed to be, but Harry rather liked the ominous feel of it. He had spent the last couple of weeks wrestling with himself, trying to figure out what exactly Dumbledore wanted him to forgive him for. The Dursleys? The way he hid from him fifth year? Then it hit him- everything. Luckily the strong odor of ginger down here kept him from being sick. It smelled good, familiar.

"Is it hot enough yet?" he asked. Snape shook his head.

"Only three hundred degrees. You'll know when it hits four twenty-five." Taking private potions lessons with Snape was in a whole other realm from learning Occlumency, Harry discerned quickly. Snape had learned (and taught) Occlumency ought of necessity. But he had a passion for potions he was willing to share. He was at home here.

"Okay. Let's put in the wormwood first." And so was Harry. After waiting for a nod of approval, he grabbed the ingredients and laid them on the bottom of the cold metal. "Slughorn. Is he hard to please?" The dungeons would be so different; Harry was quite curious.

"Not nearly enough. You'll be fine."

He could not stop the grin in time. Snape reached over him to grab a container of something orange-looking, and the stench as the lid was ripped off made him flinch. "Oh, get used to it." They went in too, and immediately the stuff began to bubble. It was the first time he was actually helping prepare Lupin's Wolfsbane Potion, and it could not be messed up. Considering this, he was getting a lot more free reign than he expected. It was nice being here.

"Easy to manipulate, then?" That look crossed Snape's face where Harry knew he was trying to resist saying more than he needed to- which rarely ever worked.

"You didn't hear it from me."

Harry almost laughed, but that _sneer._ "Dumbledore asked me to bury him in Godric's Hollow," he said softly. "I just thought that… you should know."

This didn't seem to bother Snape as much as much as he expected initially. Just another sharp nod of approval. "He might have mentioned it." And of a sudden Harry figured out what was bothering him.

"You'll still be here."

"Always. But it won't be the same." No. Snape would be ostracized and shut out, treated more maliciously than Harry cared to envision. It would be torture. Harry shut his eyes for a brief second. Then, Snape was used to torture.

"We'll make it." Both then sunk into a silent reverie, lost, working rhythmically together to finish the batch perfectly. Lupin would now have enough to last to the next couple full moons. It was sweltering and Harry was sweating, but the hard work was rewarding. They were just corking the last vial and slipping it into the case when a loud bang issued from upstairs. "They're here."

Snape followed him up sullenly, and they were met by the sight of six of the nine Weasleys, minus the three eldest ones. Harry was ready. He was ready to go and bury himself in their smiling faces, ready to go back to Hogwarts in a fortnight. He took one look back at his new Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher and in an instant flew into the black cloak. Relief flooded through him when he felt the hug returned, felt a reassuring hand on the back of his head. "I'll see you at Hogwarts, Harry."

"Thanks," Harry said, facing the happy Weasleys. "I'm ready. Let's go." And he was. He was glad even more when Ron did not ask why he had just hugged Professor Snape.

~Fifteen Years Later~

The cemetery was cold, cold and foreboding, and all present were shivering. Harry's navy blue sweater was not doing enough to keep him from the darkness. He had recovered fully, of course, since the war ended. Ginny was right beside him, as were their three children. He was thankful, he was lucky, he was happy.

But here.

Here it all came back.

The cemetery at Godric's Hollow had not changed at all since Voldemort's defeat, except for one new grave etched between two others. Though that was unfair; it was a war casualty. It had been the last war casualty. "I'm not surprised you wanted to come, Albus," he said, turning to face his youngest son. So full of life, so beautiful. He was only eight years old.

"No. I wanted to see who you named us after. Visit them."

"Do we have to stay long? I'm freezing." So James had noticed the cold too. For Harry it did not come from this bitter winter weather. He stood in front of his firstborn and looked him in the eyes, preparing to tell him something he hoped he would never forget.

"I named you after my father to remember him. He died to save me. I didn't know him, but I will not forget him." He paused, waiting for it to sink in. James said nothing. "Sirius Black is my Godfather and the only family I ever knew. I only knew him for a short time, but he died to save me too. I loved him." There were tears in his eyes, but the December air kept them from falling. Lily Luna was clutched to her mother's leg, huddled close, and Harry brushed that red hair away from her face. His only daughter.

"My mother's love protected me long after she shielded me and lost her own life. A mother's love is the most powerful force on earth." He looked at Ginny now, pleased to see that she held Lily and little closer then. "Luna Lovegood can make you smile when you feel like never smiling again. Not many people can, but you have her gift, Lily. I owed her that."

He felt the young presence immediately at his side, and he ruffled the messy dark hair so like his own. His son looked up at him expectantly. "Albus Dumbledore was a powerful and wise wizard, and the only one Voldemort ever feared. But to me he was loving and caring He taught me that love is always the answer. He had his flaws, sure. Power was a temptation. But he was the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts ever had."

"But Dad, what about-"

Harry wasn't about to let him finish.

"Severus Snape was Headmaster during a very different time, Albus. A time of fear and outright war." He closed him eyes, and could still see him standing there, with Dumbledore. "He was Dumbledore's most trusted advisor and my silent protector. He died a hero." This time a tear did fall, and a gusty breeze shook the brittle leaves to the hard ground. "When I think of him I imagine a ghostly, dark figure hidden in the trees watching a silver doe, glistening in the moonlight, guide a young boy to a frozen lake. He knew I would follow it. He made sure I was safe."

He could hear the crunch of snow as Lily was lifted off the ground to nestle in her mother's arms. He knew it must be now. From a bag at his side he pulled a long, flowing black cloak, and he could still see a sallow figure walk away as it billowed behind him. He looked at Albus Severus.

"I gave James Sirius his Grandfather's Invisibility Cloak when he was your age, as well as the mirror my Godfather Sirius gave me. The one that kept us connected." Albus nodded knowingly and it made Harry smile, even managed to block out the sharp pain for a moment. "Lily has the blanket my mother wrapped me in, the only thing I had of her. And you have Dumbledore's snitch at home."

 _I open at the close._ Dumbledore had always been so elusive. "This is the only thing- well, almost- that I have of Severus Snape. That night I went back to the Shrieking Shack they had already taken his body. This is all I have left." Albus touched it gingerly, like it had real value to him already, like it was significant, and nothing could have made Harry happier. "I never saw him without it." The boy's expression was one of awe. "Help me, now."

Albus did not need to be told twice. They managed, together, to fold it into a neat square, a still one. "Go on," Ginny encouraged fleetingly, giving her son a push from the back. Timidly he walked forward, almost nervously, and draped it over the third tombstone, being careful that you could still read the words. They read:

Severus Snape

January 9, 1960-

May 2, 1998.

At Peace

Albus took a step back. "It was fabulous of you to bury him here, Harry," Ginny whispered in her husband's ear.

"It seemed most appropriate. His loyalties lied with Dumbledore, and he would want to be next to her. I couldn't think of anywhere better but in between them," he replied, just as softly. The image of a scrawny, unloved boy in baggy leftover clothes crossed his mind. It was him… except, the hooked nose, greasy hair. Snape had never, ever been loved, except in death. Then he looked at the stone to his immediate right, and an old, smiling Headmaster stood before him, that mysterious twinkle in his eyes never gone, gray beard shining.

He was laughing.

Incredibly pained now, Harry turned to find his wife laying wreaths she retrieved from the bag at the foot of all four of the graves, Lily Luna helping. Their shocks of red hair stood out dangerously in the midnight sky, and he had never felt more love for them. "Dumbledore once said that some wounds run too deep for the healing," he observed to Albus, who had reclaimed his place beside him.

"Was he right?"

That stopped Harry in his tracks. "Key word: some."

"I love you, Dad."

And then he was hugging the boy by his side. "I love you too, kid. You never cease to amaze me, Albus Severus Potter." And all the coldness of this place had fled, suddenly. It was a place of refuge, like it had been the first time he had been here with Hermione when he was seventeen. It didn't seem like so long ago now, though some days it seemed another lifetime.

"We should go." Ginny's voice brought him out of his reverie. She gestured to the child on her hip, whose head was bobbing sleepily. James was already waiting impatiently by the gate. That trapped, encased feeling was broken as the happy family drove away.

A/N: Hard to believe this is the next to last chapter. Thanks to all who stuck with me this long! I know Harry said here that he never saw Snape without his cloak, but in my fiction he did. That was not an accident. What do you think was written on Snape's grave?


	12. New Beginning

XII. New Beginning

* * *

Three years later, it still appeared to be more of a chaotic family. "James Potter!" screeched Lily violently, shaking a red hairbrush at her brother. She stood in the upstairs bathroom, the back of her shining hair now a mat of tangles. "It is not funny! Sneaking up behind me in that… that _thing_ while I'm getting ready is not funny!" Her brother stood only a few feet away, laughing meanly, holding an Invisibility Cloak in his hands. It was immediately snatched away from him.

"Dad!"

"I did not give you this so that you could sneak around playing dumb tricks! You will not abuse its power, young man!"

James looked at him incredulously, dumbstruck. "I'm not a young man. I'm fifteen. And like you never abused it."

"We are not talking about me. I used it to listen in on important conversations, not bully my siblings." He thought he had won, but…

"You had no siblings!"

"Ahem." After clearing her throat, Ginny stepped into the hall. She looked every bit the overworked mother in jeans and a faded t-shirt. "You owe your sister an apology. I took you to Diagon Alley yesterday for your things. It is her turn. She is a teenager, she needs her privacy, and I am confiscating that." She held out her hand expectantly, and with a dramatic sigh of defeat he gave it to her. "Now apologize."

Lily stood behind them, hand on her hips. "I'm sorry."

"Good. Not let's get you fixed up." Ginny disappeared into the bathroom with her daughter, and so it was Harry who answered the door a second later. He was stunned to see standing there none other than Draco Malfoy.

"Hello, Potter. I know you weren't expecting us, but… Well, could we come in?" It was just then that he saw a child poking out from behind Draco's leg. A mini-Malfoy. He was instantly curious as to what they could want, and Draco had not been discourteous.

"Um… sure." He made room for them to step inside, suddenly embarrassed at how messy the house was. He kicked a stray soccer ball under the chair, grateful this went unnoticed as the door clicked shut.

"Pardon the intrusion. I know you didn't want to see us or anything," Malfoy began breathlessly, as if trying to get it all out at once, "but I just thought that since our sons are the same age and going to Hogwarts together in a few days, it might be helpful if we… made peace." Junior Malfoy was shyly poking out now. He was the spitting image of his father, the blonde hair, blue eyes. Harry was reminded of meeting Draco for the very first time when they were that age. Eleven. "This is my son, Scorpio. Scorpio, this is Harry Potter."

They shook hands, the boy obviously quite timid, and Harry smiled to put him at ease. "Nice to meet you. I know someone else you might be interested in meeting." With that Harry walked to the foot of the stairs and shouted, "Albus!" And only a second later a little green eyed boy shook hands with a blue-eyed boy. "This is my son, Albus Severus Potter." He could not miss Draco gasp at the name.

"You didn't!"

"I did," said Harry decidedly, meeting Draco's gaze but then turning to pat his son on the shoulder. "Why don't you go show Scorpio your book collection? You like books, don't you, Scorpio?"

The child did not say anything. He didn't have to. "Scorpio is very academic-" But apparently the boy was not going to let his father speak for him. He spoke up.

"Yes, yes I do." You couldn't miss the way Albus' smile lit up his face at that.

"Let's go then!" And they were off.

"I'm sorry," said Draco right away.

"I shouldn't have come. It's just that… since Astoria died… he's been so lonely, shut off-" Harry had recalled hearing something about Malfoy's wife dying at the Ministry and felt instant pity. Scorpio was the only family he had, and Harry knew what that was like. Sirius had been like that. He gestured to a spot on the couch. Draco took it without hesitation.

"I'm sure they'll be great friends." That was the first time a Malfoy had ever smiled at him. He sniffled and gave a raspy sigh.

"I also came to apologize for everything-" Harry knew what to say right away.

"I am the one who should apologize."

This obviously took Draco aback. "What are you talking about? That night at the Battle of Hogwarts, you came back to pull me from that fire…"

"I remember it vividly, Draco," cut in Harry sharply. "But it only makes us even. Don't you remember that time in our sixth year you nearly bled to death because of me?" That had scarred him for a long time, though he would scarcely admit it. That reply came fast, as if it were loaded on the tongue.

"That doesn't count. Snape saved me." And the ammunition had hit its target.

"He saved our asses lots of times. Did you know that was one of the many reasons Dumbledore had him do it? To save you. To save your soul. " He could still replay the conversation in his head, every word. Draco looked stricken.

"But-what about- _his_ soul-" And he sounded as if he were drowning.

"Listen to me. It was planned between them. Nothing happened."

"That Unbreakable Vow, then-"

"He was always more than met the eye," said Harry mysteriously.

Draco's face seemed to go ash white. "How are you going to tell him? That I nearly killed the man you named him after?" It was not said, but it was there. _How are you going to tell him what an awful person I was?_

"By telling him that he was killed by the other man I named him after." Yep, it did sound crazy. Completely. He had been afraid of that.

"But I almost did it!"

"Don't you pay attention, Draco? Dumbledore was not going to let you do it! He was not going to let you kill him." The words rang in his head. _That boy's soul is not yet so damaged._

"If Severus Snape taught me anything it's that it's never too late to change, ever. I know what side you are on. You are not your parents." Draco needed to hear that. It was evident as the gratitude washed over his features. "I suppose I should thank you, Draco. If you hadn't zoomed up into the air with Neville's Remembrall I would never have gone up after you, and McGonagall would not have put me on the Quidditch team."

Draco gave a cold, hard laugh. "Is that what happened?"

"it is. And another thing you need to know, too. Your mother loved you. Loved you so much that she lied to the Dark Lord for you." The gasp was not sharp and fast like expected, it was long and held out like a breath, a realization. Slowly Draco leaned across the table between them, elbows perched. When he spoke he stammered.

"W-what?" He had no idea what Harry was talking about.

"Oh yes. When he tried to kill me. It didn't work, but you know all about that. Anyway Voldemort was knocked over and he hissed at Narcissa- _your mother-_ to go and see if I was dead." He was loving the affect this was having. He had never seen a Malfoy speechless before. "She only asked me one question: _Is Draco okay?_ And Voldemort was so far away that he did not see me nod." Draco nodded, he knew now, what happened, how it ended. "I will never forget the sound of her voice as she rose up and shouted, 'DEAD!' " It was true. He could still hear it echo through the clearing. "She loved you a lot, Draco. It takes a very brave person to lie to the Dark Lord."

But he was certainly not speaking of Narcissa Malfoy anymore, and he did not care if Draco knew it or not. "Thank you," came the whisper, and Harry saw a small tear escape with it. And a chuckle. "This was a waste of time, though," Draco went on. "After all our children will probably be in different Houses…"

"I don't know about that. He has a lot of his Slytherin namesake in him." It was a full blown laugh this time. Harry had never heard it before. "What do you think he would say if he knew?" His breaths were shortening; it felt like he was elastic. Some days Draco knew Snape a lot better than he did.

"Potter, you sentimental fool," tried Draco, but it simply was not right.

"No," said Harry, shaking his head. "I think he'd be proud." This was the second time a smile escaped.

"You know what? You're probably right." They stood now, the both of them, any ties to the past severed. Friends. "I'm sorry for being such a jealous creep. You had Ron and Hermione, real friends, and I had Crabbe and Goyle, useless oafs. What you had was real, and I envied it." Deep down Harry had always known this, but it was still shocking to hear it said. Draco was taking a good look at the house, and how well lived in and used it was. There was a glimmer of a tear in his eyes. "I still do."

Before Harry could reply, however, two eleven year olds snuck up on them. "Did you guys have fun?"

"Yes!" they shouted in unison, looking on top of the world.

"I have a new best friend, Dad," said Scorpio, and this time he was not mistaken when he saw a tear fall from Draco's eye.

"We'll come back tomorrow. Take Albus to Diagon Alley." He glanced at Harry hastily. "I mean, if that's okay with you…"

Harry put up his hands in surrender. "Hey, I won't fight it." He was grinning.

"Thank you." He had never known that Draco could be as sincere as he was now. It was the beginning of something.

"See you tomorrow," he said, walking to the door. "And Draco? Come anytime."

The End


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